#I could get all cliché and say how one is like a rush of blood to the head

[freepassbound]

First of all, I want to thank you for the april asks idea. This is so lovely, and though I am late to the party, I'll still try to participate every day. The convenient list of ask games is also very thoughtful :) I'll be reblog these, and as a personal rule, I pose (at least) one question of every list to the person I've reblogged from. Therefore, would you mind answering the following:

How long does it take you to fall in love with somebody?Is the sensation of ‘falling in love’ or ‘being in love’ better?

Thank you and have a nice day 🧡

Oh! You're quite welcome! 😊

Though boy... stepping right in with the big questions! 😮‍💨

Truthfully, I have little confidence that I am in touch with my emotions well enough to actually know the answer to either of them. But I'll give it a go.

How long does it take you to fall in love with somebody?

I don't think I'm really aware of it as it's happening? The only answer I can think of is to glibly paraphrase Hemingway on bankruptcy: slowly, then all at once. The 'slowly' part is what I'm not aware of, and it's happening while I'm getting to know them, while we're talking, while we're exchanging memes and whatever... and then I wake up one day and realize I love this person.

I think certainly it is dependent on some level of interaction with another person - I might feel fondly about some people I've never directly interacted with, but I don't think I could love them. And I think it's also dependent on the amount and the quality of the interaction.

Is the sensation of ‘falling in love’ or ‘being in love’ better?

I don't believe they can be quantified in opposition to each other. They're two very different feelings, and they're both absolutely wonderful.

[eryiss]

The Liar Prince Of Fiore: Chapter Five

Summary: Laxus knew Freed better than anyone else, but everyone had secrets. With Freed's secrets laid bare. his past life of royalty, titles and expectations come back to haunt him. Laxus makes a promise to protect him. For as long as necessary, he will play the role of Freed's husband. It might have been easy, if Laxus didn't wish so much for their lie to be true.

Notes: Sorry it’s been a while, new job and fluctuating enthusiasm is tough. I’ve made some changes to how the story will progress, which I’m happy with but will make it shorter. Hope you enjoy it

Links: Ao3, Previous Chapter

Chapter Five – The Party

You could hear a pin drop.

It was a saying that was thrown around a lot, meant to signify something so shocking that silence persisted over all. Freed had long since dismissed it as hyperbole; silence didn't ever exist. There was always something to hear. The twitter of a bird, the crackle of a fire, the rush of the wind or the creak of a settling house. Silence was a fiction that Freed had never understood; the world would never be quiet so why would you tell yourself otherwise.

But, the illusion of silence was a very real thing. The muting of chatter seemed to bring silence to Freed's ears. Intellectually, he knew that there was music playing through the lacrimas, there was blood rushing through him, there was the thrumming of his heartbeat. The sound existed, and yet Freed couldn't hear it.

You could hear a pin drop.

The hand, large and warm and grounding, pressed against his back again. "Come on. Let's get it over with."

Murmured though they were, Laxus' words were enough for Freed. His posture didn't change, his eyes didn't harden, but he saw the situation for what it was. A battlefield like any other he'd been on; survival was imperative. He strode forward with a bravado that was forced, and towards the crowd of his opponents. He heard the click of Laxus' dress shoes following him, and the hand never left his back. This was combat, and Laxus his support. So long as he could see this as a mission, he could see it through to the end.

Glancing at the crowd, he saw uninhibited judgment. He expected that Albion, in all that was left of him, was a sideshow for these people. The renegade prince who ran away to the circus. A cliché, and one to be dissected. But Freed could deal with that; being backfooted by the enemy was always where Freed thrived. Underestimated and deadly.

"Good afternoon," He inclined his head, giving a slight greeting. "I do hope you haven't been waiting for us."

Nobody spoke; it was hazing of a sort. Freed and Laxus were pray, and everyone in the room was a predator. They believed that they were toying with their meat, letting them squirm for a little while before they went in for the killing blow, but Freed used it as an opportunity. He was more battle hardened, more dangerous, more deadly than any of them could believe. He could deal with them single handed.

And, rather helpfully, Freed never forgot a face.

"Lady Thorne, how long it's been since I have seen you," he said with faux delight. "And yet time has barely touched you. Gods, has it really been so long since your gardener scolded me for sneaking into your gardens?"

The wrinkled old bat apparently didn't expect him to remember her. Or perhaps she had forgotten she'd ever met him; the snotty cow had always been far too self-involved.

"Captain Gelts," He turned to a burly man, straight backed and angry looking. "How delightful it is to see you again. It's the most peculiar thing, I was thinking back to your war stories only a few weeks ago. I was speaking with members of the Rune Army – an occupational hazard, I'm afraid – and by the gods do they talk. You'd love them, I'm sure. Real men of the world."

Captain Gelts had served in the army for a week, before throwing such a tantrum he was sent home with a false title to quiet him. He had myriad war stories though, each as fictitious as the toupee on his head. Everyone knew, and Freed mentioning speaking with actual soldiers was a reminder of it.

"Mademoiselle Cooper," Freed turned to a young woman. He took her by the hand, kissed it, then glanced to the old man next to her. "We've never met, but your husband was a mainstay in my house as a child. The stories I could tell you of him would certainly… well, they'd hardly be conducive to a polite dinner."

The woman seemed nice enough, but her new husband was a creep, who went through wives like a normal man would go through toiler paper. He had nothing but money as a draw, and had a nasty habit of blackmailing his exes. Hardly conducive to polite dinner indeed.

Freed turned to address the next victim, but stumbled.

Jasper.

Whereas everyone was standing in the large reception room, he had been sitting and reading. The book snapped shut and he stood for Freed. He was aethereal in his paleness, with a main of curling red hair thick and long, resting at his waist. He had been short and scrawny as a child, but had grown in height and muscle, cutting the handsome and imposing figure. His clothes were the cutting edge of fashion, tailored to suit his form to perfection. He towered over everyone in the room – even having a few inches over Laxus, Freed would guess - and seemed entirely comfortable. The crowd parted for him, and Jasper walked to stand in front of Freed, looking down with false delight.

"Albion," He enthused. "My, look at you! I would hardly recognise you, were it not for the cutting wit of course. Gods, you did always like the cads and rogues in those books, didn't you? By the looks of it, you've become one."

The lack of subtlety in the insult was almost offensive.

"I actually no longer use the name-"

"Oh, but you wear the look so well," Jasper continued, ploughing over Freed's words without so much as wincing. He had done that in their childhood; Freed had forgotten that particular irritant. "You've become quite the dashing little sod, haven't you Albion? Filled out a lot too, assuming the shoulders of that little tux aren't padded. The renegade life you've chosen suits you. I could never have imagined the rough and ready world to become you so much."

"You flatter me," Freed said, polite instinct taking over. He tried to scold himself for falling back into old habits. "And really, I must insist that you call me-"

"Truly, my dear, you've become quite the dish," Jasper leered at him. He took another step forward, crowding Freed's space. He wanted to step back, but Laxus' warm hand steadied him. It was a silent message to say there should be no cowering: Jasper wasn't worth it. "I must admit, it makes a man wonder what I did to lose you."

Freed wished to speak, but his words caught in his throat.

A cold, overly soft hand ran fingers up his neck. It was slow, so light that it almost tickled, and the nails grazed against his Adam's apple. They took his chin and tilted it up, so that Freed was forced to meet Jasper's golden eyes. He froze, the ice of the man's grasp like a bucket of water tossed over him. His body wouldn't move, his breath stuttering panic rose. Jasper was looming over every aspect of him, crowding him and trapping him.

Warmth. Laxus' hand gently stroked Freed's back in a gesture of casual intimacy, and then left. Freed had the space to step back, take a breath, and break the contact. The lure – the trap – was broken, and Freed turned slightly.

"You should meet Laxus, my husband."

Laxus and Jasper were uninhibited as they sized one another up. Laxus looked at Jasper with an expression that Freed had never seen on him before. Freed knew when Laxus was irritated, when he was angry, when he was morally repulsed. The look he was giving Jasper was so unique that Freed couldn't look away. It was as if Laxus thought so little of him that he barely cared yet was entirely consumed with some kind of feeling towards him. Jasper himself looked at Laxus with open dismissiveness. Like a speck of dirt or something to be ignored. The thought of Laxus being perceived that way got Freed's hackles up; Laxus Dreyar was the least ignorable man Freed had ever met, and should not be the subject of derision.

The moment was over before it began, and Laxus shoved his hand out without elegance. "Laxus Dreyar."

"Jasper Battencorp," Jasper slightly huffed, taking Laxus' hand and shaking it. Whereas Laxus' grip was it's usual strength, Jasper's seemed so loose it was patronising. "Dreyar, was it? You've not taken dear Albion's surname?"

"I'm of the opinion that it's better to respect a name than to take it," Laxus snapped. "Ain't that right, Freed?"

The exaggeration put on his name brought a silly smile onto Freed's face. Jasper might be able to talk over Freed as he performed his fake-polite persona, but Laxus had no such qualms about cutting through the shit and saying what he felt. The fact he was coming to Freed's aid and defending who he really was… it was hard not to preen, even if imperceptibly so. No doubt, if Laxus still had his hand against Freed's back, Freed would be pushing up against it to get further contact with him. The warmth of him compared to the coolness of Jasper's skin was so stark, and Freed craved the former while hating the latter.

"Quite," Freed found himself saying, looking away from Laxus. When he had begun staring at him, he couldn't remember. "And if Laxus had taken my surname, he would be a Justine. The name I identify with is Freed Justine."

"Oh, I must admit that saddens me," Jasper hummed, faking sadness. "Albion Fiore was such a mellifluous treat for both the ears and the tongue. I would have been proud to take it, myself. And, for honesty's sake, this new name seems rather… bland by comparison, don't you think?"

"No." Laxus said before Freed could say anything.

Jasper ignored him entirely, turning to face Freed again, casting a shadow over him as he reached up. An ice-cold hand reached up, and a knuckle stroked down Freed's cheek. "Still, what's in a name? No matter what you call yourself, you'll always be the same man, won't you? The charming rebel who captured my heart still remains."

His hand lingered for a moment, then he stepped back, returned to his chair, and picked his book up. The music from the lacrima seemed to get louder, and with it there was chattering. Gossip and slander about the show they'd been given. Freed didn't care; he couldn't care. His face felt cold. His body felt cold. Everything felt cold.

"You alright?" Laxus voice, low and grumbling and so warm in it's tenor, went straight to Freed's gut.

"Yes," Freed lied.

"You don't look alright."

"I'm…" He wanted to lie and say he was okay, but clearly it would be for naught. Instead, he found himself repeating a mantra they'd both used on many missions. "We continue, and we survive."

Laxus frowned almost imperceptibly, his hand raised a little then faltered in an aborted movement, and then he nodded. "We do. You'll get through it."

Freed wanted to believe Laxus. He really, truly did.

——

Dinner was conducted in the dining room that, as a child, Freed had never been permitted to enter. It was an imposing sight, languishing in light from large windows with more decorations than anyone would ever need. The smell of food not yet served had permeated through the room as they had been ushered into it and Freed absently wondered if they were still employing the delightful woman who used to sneak pastries to him whenever he visited. The table dominated the space, large enough for thirty Freed would guess, and was covered with every type of cutlery one could imagine; far too much for it all to be used in a single meal.

It was obviously a test of some kind, or perhaps just passive aggression. Either Jasper wanted to know how well Laxus could function in this environment, or he had assumed Laxus would fail and wanted to watch him squirm. It wouldn't work; Laxus had done more than enough undercover missions to navigate the situation with ease.

"So, Dreyar," Gelts boomed. "What d'you do for a living?"

"I'm a working mage," Laxus said without hesitation. Freed smiled a little, glad for the lack of a lie.

"And that's steady work, is it?" The captain asked, feigning interest but setting a trap. "A good way to make your name?"

"It's as steady as any other," Laxus shrugged as the doors opened and the staff began to bring platters of food in. "And I think it's a pretty good way to live. You help people, you keep 'em safe, and you get your hands dirty. I'm sure an army man like that can appreciate that," Freed nearly snorted at the insult, but Laxus kept talking. "And you get to meet some good people. That's what I found, at least."

Laxus sent an almost private look to Freed, and for a moment Freed thought it was real. Two husbands sharing a private joke; it was entirely plausible. But it was also a lie, so Freed plastered on a false but believable smile of his own.

"How did the two of you get together," Mademoiselle Cooper, who seemed to be actually rather tolerable a woman, asked with seemingly genuine interest. "You seem such a mismatched couple, but also perfect for one another."

Freed felt a pang of hurt at that. Perfect for one another. It was hard not to feel bitter.

Laxus, as he had been the one addressed, told the story. It was mainly the truth, with a few amendments to give it a more romantic slant. In their story, Freed had been wandering the country, aimless and looking to settle, when he had happened upon Laxus. Laxus had been in the middle of a mission and was fighting a creature of some sort. He had nearly been hit by a blast of magic, but Freed had acted on instinct and created a barrier of magical energy to protect him. They had killed the creature side by side, spent the night talking by a campfire, and Laxus had invited him to come to Fairy Tail for as long as he wanted. Freed had never left.

Of course, in the story, Laxus had exaggerated just how impressed he had been with Freed. How dashing the eighteen-year-old had looked, and how handsome he seemed when casting spells. Freed smiled and laughed along as if bashful, but it only added further to the bitterness. This entirely plausible story was too close and too far.

"And your first kiss," Mademoiselle Cooper probed, seemingly entranced. Freed could understand that; Laxus had a brilliant talent for storytelling, even if he rarely utilised it. The low grumble of his voice could entrance anyone. "It must have been wonderful."

"Wonderful isn't the word I'd use," Laxus chuckled, as if rueful.

"Oh, I'm sure that's not true."

"No. It was, erm, well, it was my first kiss," Laxus laughed a little, and Freed turned to him. That hadn't been the story they had agreed on. "I've never exactly been too interested in that part of life, y'know. Always had other things on my mind, so I never really prioritised finding someone. I don't exactly know what made me lean in, but I did. Looking back I was an awkward fumbling idiot, but I guess it worked out in the end."

Freed gave the polite laugh that was expected of him, but his eyes lingered on Laxus. Freed had never known Laxus to be with someone. Laxus had never dated anyone that Freed had seen. He'd never been shifty and weird as if hiding a partner. He'd never even had a casual fuck, not to Freed's knowledge anyway.

A buzzing started to grow behind Freed's ears.

What if Laxus truly had no interest in other people in this way. Of course, Freed knew there were people who cared not for romantic nor sexual relationships, but he had never considered Laxus might be one of them. The idea that Laxus might have agreed to enact this lie with Freed when he had no interest – or perhaps was entirely uncomfortable – with it sent a shot of guilt through Freed. Yes, Laxus had been the one to suggest he play the part, but he was the sort to put others before himself.

The spirally of his thoughts was cut off when something grazed his leg. It was the tip of a shoe, and Freed froze. It wasn't Laxus, it was whoever was sitting opposite him. He looked forward and saw Captain Gelts' son, a handsome and roughened man who actually had served in the army, grinning privately. His foot ran up and down Freed's leg slowly, maintaining eye contact. Then, with movements meant to be seductive, he leant forward, flexed a bicep under his shirtsleeve, and spoke in a private, rumbling voice.

"Quite a story you have with your husband," He commented. "It's sweet, isn't it. Makes you wonder if you're craving something more… sinful."

His grazing toe got higher, and Freed shunted himself back in his seat, just far enough away so that the man could no longer touch him. Freed looked away to break any contact, and his eyes settled on Jasper. For a moment, he saw analysis and irritation hidden in Jasper's eyes, but it died and was replaced by a small, false smile. How long had Jasper been looking at him? And, most importantly, what was he looking for?

The buzzing in Freed's ears became a ringing, deafening in its intensity.

"Hey," Laxus mumbled under his breath. He knocked a knee against Freed's below the table. The jolt of it was grounding, and Freed turned to meet his gaze. It was private, quiet and small. It was exactly what Freed needed. "Not much longer, yeah."

"I know," Freed whispered. The moment couldn't come soon enough.

——

"Oh no. Oh dear no, I can't accept this," Jasper tutted, standing at the window, pulling back one of the large curtains. "No, this is far too heavy a storm for a carriage to travel in. No, you'll all sleep here for the night while it passes."

"No," Freed said firmly before anyone else could speak.

His patience had snapped before his sanity. The rest of the dinner has been a beleaguered affair. The time between corses seemed everlasting and, while the food was admittedly good, the endless passive aggressive conversation was enough to spoil even ambrosia. It had been easy to forget just how exhausting a simple dinner could be when everyone in attendance was speaking in layers and with agendas that they didn't hide but refused to explain. Laxus had been the only person Freed hadn't needed to filter through his society speak mind, and Freed was thankful he at least had that to settle his nerves.

Not that they had time to settle. Jasper hadn't been subtle, and Freed quickly realised what the point of this dinner was. Testing the waters of Freed's 'marriage' to Laxus. Every interaction was loaded with a test of sort. He wanted to see Laxus squirm and Freed to see him in a bad light. He wanted Freed to stray with Gelt's son, assuming he would be next in line. He wanted Freed in his bed, and a wedding ring wasn't getting in his way.

A fake wedding ring, yes, but he wasn't to know. Hell, Freed had felt guilty when Gelt's son's foot had wandered up his leg.

The silver lining was that, as far as Freed could tell, Jasper hasn't doubted the validity of Freed's marriage. He was too arrogant for that; he wasn't able to think of another person long enough to consider them lying to him. No, this was territoriality mixed with a desire to be seen as in control. Jasper wanted Freed to come running back, tail between his legs so he could be bestowed with the glory of Jasper's cock. Freed was bragging rights, apparently. Which yes, did indeed lead Freed to have to fight the urge to cut the aforementioned cock off.

All of this was to say, Freed was not happy.

"Albion, I understand it's an imposition," Jasper tried to mollify, tone patronising. "But this weather-"

"My name is not Albion and the weather is entirely avoidable. You are a weather mage, cast a spell and get rid of it."

"Not all of us have chosen the same… path as you, my dear. Do you really think that I could calm this?"

"Yes."

"Is a night in my home really so bad?" Jasper hummed, stepping forward. "Times past, you might have jumped at the chance."

Freed ignored the provocative comment and stepped past Jasper and looked through the door. There was indeed a rainstorm, with the forest surrounding the house being battered by winds. Still, Freed's need to leave superseded his better sense. "We've camped in worse weather than this, we can walk. Laxus, are you ready?"

Freed stepped towards the parlour door, Laxus only then crossing the room to meet him despite having been able to hear everything. Jasper was quick to move as well, standing between them both and making it impossible to leave without pushing past him. Freed stopped, not bothering to hide the irritation that was blooming. "Now, surely the thought of my guest suite isn't that bad?"

"Move."

"Albion, I really-" The ferocity of Freed's glare must have been effective, as Jasper amended his words. "Freed, I really don't think it's safe out there. I don't know what I'd do if I let you go and found out that you were harmed, or heaven's forbid killed, because I didn't put up enough of a fight to keep you."

"You'd wring the situation out for as much sympathy as you can get, then stop pretending to care. Though-"

Laxus planted a hand on Freed's shoulder and squoze it gently, stopping Freed from releasing the tirade that had been fighting to escape for hours now. While quiet, he kept his eyes trained on Jasper as if daring him to speak, and the only reason he stopped the stare down was because Laxus turned him so they were face to face. The look of quiet worry was a balm to Freed's roaring soul, and it did a little to slow Freed's rushing pulse. He tapped his thigh in a silent cry for help, and Laxus must have seen it because he took Freed's hand and cupped it.

"We'll be fine, it's just one night," Laxus promised, and Freed found himself believing him despite everything.

"Exactly," Jasper began. "Now, I've got-"

"Could you show us to one of the rooms, please," Laxus asked of a servant, who seemed shocked to be spoken to at all. He spluttered an 'of course' before Jasper could stop him, and walked off towards the grand staircase. Laxus followed him, and Freed went to do the same. He halted when he and Jasper were side by side.

"The rooms are already prepared. How utterly convenient. You do have the greatest sense of forethought."

It was a message. Freed knew what Jasper was doing, and was telling him to stop.

After another short tour of the house, they were taken to a suite and told they hoped it suited their needs. It was a beautiful room, with all the makings of the perfect honeymoon suite. From the four poster bed to the claw bathtub in front of the lit fire, it was a room meant for seduction, and Freed couldn't help but wonder exactly what the intention behind it was. Either Jasper wanted to make use of the room himself, or simply wanted to watch Laxus and Freed fuck. Neither would happen, but Freed made his magic swell and cast a privacy rune around the room.

"Problem?" Laxus asked.

"Houses like these have crawl spaces and peep holes," Freed shucked off his jacket, tapping his fingers against a bedside table. "It's best to be sure."

"Makes sense," Laxus nodded. "You okay?"

"No. I hate this house and want out of it."

"You could teleport home," Laxus offered.

"No, I can't. If I leave he'll find an excuse to drag us back. If I endure tonight, then I can make sure he doesn't bother me," His tone was more defeated than he'd like as he slid off his tie and began stripping off his shirt. "I just want to sleep. As flawed as the man is, I can't imagine he's cheap about mattresses."

"You don't want to talk?"

"No. Not yet. Maybe once it's over," Freed shrugged, stepping out of his trousers and lifting the covers of the bed. It was crisp and well made, and the feeling of it was good against his near naked body. Even still, his fingers tapped the mattress.

Laxus didn't press him, and Freed soon heard the sound of shifting fabrics as Laxus stripped off himself. Normally, Freed would make a conceited effort not to watch as Laxus removed his clothes – seeing him in a state of undress was one thing, but watching him strip seemed more perverse – but tonight his mind was too bogged down to even consider it. His eyes were closed anyway, and the comfort of the bed was doing work in putting him to sleep. The weight of the day still hung heavy, and his mind whirled while tiredness tried to overtake it.

The mattress dipped as Laxus climbed into it. It was large enough for them not to touch, and Freed only barely felt the heat radiating from the man's body. He let the gentle rocking shift him as Laxus got himself comfortable, and felt the nagging sense of heavy eyes on the back of his head. Laxus was watching him.

He was judging him, no doubt. Freed's past life was one thing when it was all up to Laxus' imagination, it was another thing when he was presented with it. What Laxus must be thinking, Freed couldn't tell, but it wouldn't be good.

Another thing Jasper had ruined. The tapping increased.

Just as that now familiar sense of dread began to seep in, the bed shifted again. Freed didn't think anything of it until a strong arm wrapped tight around his torso, pulling him up against Laxus' chest. Freed frowned, looking at the arm for a baffled moment, before Laxus relaxed, holding Freed in what could only be described as a cuddle.

"Laxus?"

"You're stressed, you're spiralling, and you don't have your violin," Laxus grumbled, his voice tickling Freed's ear. It was soft and intimate and almost too much. "This is the best I can do for you right now. It ain't enough, but it's the best I've got so let it happen."

He should have fought the notion, but he was so tired and Laxus was so warm. His fight left him, his body relaxed, and he allowed himself the indulgence. Just this once, he’d be selfish. Just now.

[the12thnightproject]

Chapter Four: Occupational Hazards

Shingen x OC; Kenshin x MC (Mai)

Previous Chapter: here

Logline - Disguised as a boy, Katsuko finds herself working for Shingen, but her dangerous masquerade becomes difficult to sustain when she falls for the man with a fatal secret.

“Halt!” With his mouth set in a determined line, Yuki barred my progress toward Shingen’s room. Every time I tried to go around him, he leaped to block me like a goalie defending a football net. “Where are you going with that?”

Since I was carrying a handful of messages and a basket of pastry, I thought it should be obvious. “Don’t ask a question you already know the answer to.”

Yuki looked over his shoulder and scowled in the direction of Shingen’s room. “I see he’s already trying to bypass my orders by sending you out for dessert.”

“Your orders?” When did he join the calorie cops? “Why? Is there something wrong with these?” No one in the shop had seemed to have any issue with them.

“It’s not good for him to eat that many sweets, that’s all.” Yuki reached for the basket, presumably to confiscate the contraband, but I scooted out of the way.

“Really? He looks like he’s in good shape.” Really, really good shape. My job is to stay observant, so observing that Shingen is a decent specimen is an occupational hazard – especially given all of the pec airing that he does.

At that exact moment, the Occupational Hazard stepped out of his room, and there’s no way that he could have avoided hearing my comment, so I looked him right in the eyes, and tacked on, “for his age.”

I know. That was petty of me. But I was still angry at that setting me up to be killed thing. On an intellectual level I knew his “black powder test” had been a perfectly logical strategy, but what if I had gotten that powder on my hands by accident? Would he or Chiyome have killed me anyway?

With his back to Shingen, Yuki considered blithely on. “That’s not the point. He refuses to watch-.” Yuki got a look at my face, then sighed. “He’s behind me again, isn’t he?”

I nodded, as for the second time that day, Shingen thwacked Yuki on the back of his head. He eyed the confections. “Thank you, Katsu. I think I look like I’m in good shape too. For any age. Also, your former master was correct in his assessment that you’re insubordinate.”

That could simply be the adrenaline rush of being not-dead.

On my way back to the castle I had considered how to deal with his distrust of me. If I acted overly deferential, slinking around with my voice quiet and my eyes downcast, that would be more suspicious than if I were just my own, unfiltered, slightly insubordinate self. Maybe it’s a cliché, but in this case, the best defense would be a solid offense.

“Bring that inside,” Shingen motioned to the basket. “I’m dying for dessert.” At Shingen’s beckon, Yuki and I followed him back to his room, where I deposited my prize onto his writing desk. GOOOOOAAAAAALLLLLLL! Shingen immediately dug in with the attitude of a man starving in the desert. Then, he tipped the basket towards us. “Help yourselves.”

“Nah, I’m good,” Yuki said. He continued to glare at the confections as if they had caused him a great insult.

The smell of the pastry had been torturing me all the way back from the shop – so I gratefully took him up on the offer, picked up the closest dumpling, and took a decent bite. My blood sugar level instantly tripled. Apparently, Shingen has the palate of a nine-year-old boy. “Oh my God,” I managed to say.

Help!

“I know, right? Yuki doesn’t know what he is missing.” He fished around the basket for another sweet bun.

Tooth decay and a diabetic coma – that’s what he’s missing.

“Yuki can live with the deprivation,” said the man in question, who was clanking around in the fire pit.

Shingen pointed out the various treats. “If you like that one, then you have to taste this – they make it with red bean paste.”

“I’m still savoring the one I have.” I took as small a bite as I could get away with. I doubted I could realistically fake an mmmm noise. I’m a great liar – but there are limits to my talent.

Yuki discreetly passed me a cup of tea. Bless you, Yuki. Eager to change the subject before Shingen could ask me for a more detailed opinion on his beloved sugar grenades, I handed over his messages and reports.

Now… how I was going to manage to secretly pass along the new information from Aki?  Although… Maybe it wouldn’t be necessary? Shingen had taken the sniper prisoner, so presumably the man was in the castle dungeon. Perhaps he had already confessed to the assassination plot. “Have you questioned the man who tried to rob you last night?”

Shingen glanced up from a report he was scanning. “Unfortunately, not. His wound turned septic, and he hasn’t regained his senses.”

“Oh.” It was a good thing that I was already sitting down – otherwise I might have collapsed. I pictured the sniper as I had last seen him, moaning because an arrow - my arrow – had impaled his hand. I looked down at my own hand, a hand that not too long ago had born the imprint of a tokin. Tentatively I wiggled my fingers, imagining how it must have felt to feel the bite of metal tearing into it. If the sniper’s wound was gangrenous, then he’d probably lose his hand, maybe even-- “Is he likely to survive?”

Shingen looked at me like he was weighing several responses, before saying, “No. I doubt he will.”

So now, in addition to being a liar, I was also a killer.

I took a deep breath and shut my eyes. I hadn’t meant to kill anyone, but that didn’t change the outcome. It suddenly felt like there were no nerves in my fingertips, but at the same time, internally I was feeling everything – shock, regret, guilt – in a swirl of emotion that roared in my ears. The sweet pastry that had fallen like a rock into my stomach threatened to reverse course.

I killed someone. Someone who was alive two days ago will not be alive tomorrow because of me.

When I re-opened my eyes, Shingen was still silently regarding me. I wondered if he had ever – well, that was a ridiculous thought. He was the Tiger of Kai – he had to have killed many in battle. “Does it get easier?”

Yukimura shook his head and responded first. “No. Never has.” He cleared his throat a couple of times and gulped down his tea.

But Shingen had a different answer. “Killing? Yes. You learn to put what must done in one part of your mind, separate from the you that lives through every day, walled away from your heart. You must, or one day you’ll no longer be able to function. But it’s still within you.” He tapped his chest. “It’s still within you.”

I understood. I was going to have to live with this. I was going to have to learn how to live with it.

Shingen sighed and raked his hair out of his eyes. “I won’t insult you by telling you this man was a criminal and probably has harmed or killed many others. You know that. You also now know what it’s like to kill and that will weigh upon you.”

It did. I appreciated the fact that he didn’t tell me to get over it, or offer a cliched platitude like, ‘war is hell, kid.’ He was treating me like the young man he thought me to be – and I needed to respond accordingly. “Yes, sir, it does.”

His eyebrows lifted at my return to formality. “I would have respected you less if it didn’t bother you.”

“I didn’t shoot to kill him, but I knew that every time I picked up a weapon, I faced that possibility.  But – I never understood what that knowledge meant. I hadn’t expected the possible to ever become a reality.” Could I have avoided this outcome? “Maybe if I had aimed at the musket and not his hand,” I said, mostly to myself. I mentally placed myself back in that tree, remembered how excited I had felt at being part of something. I’d even somewhat joked with myself about adding ghostly noises. It had almost felt like a game. Target shooting… except the targets breathed and bled.

Again, that tingling in the ends of my fingertips. I scraped my hands across the tatami mat, hoping that feel of the straw would ground me. Something nudged my arm: Yuki, offering me more tea. I shook my head.

Shingen allowed me another moment to wallow, then seemed to come to a decision. He tapped his hand on his desk to get my attention.  “If that was anything more than a lucky – or unlucky, depending how you look at it – shot,” Shingen said, his words challenging my dark mood, “I will swear off confections for a week.”

Wait…. What? The sudden reversal in his tone nearly gave me whiplash, shocking me out my emotional turmoil.

I couldn’t let that affront to my archery skills stand. Insult my swordplay all you want, but I’m absolutely accurate with a bow. “That arrow went right where I intended it to go. I’ve made harder shots blindfolded.”

 “Get your weaponry then and meet me on the grounds as soon as you can.” He got up and headed for the door, his long legs crossing the distance in three strides.

Once he was gone, I looked at Yuki, who had been quiet through this entire conversation. “Did he just challenge me?”

“Not sure, but if you win, I’m holding him to that no-dessert-for-a-week penalty.” Yuki thumped me on the shoulder. “So, you’ve gotta win.”

Not a duel. It was much, much worse than that, I discovered a short while later, when I arrived to face what appeared to be at least half the residents of the castle, and a field set up with five targets in varying sizes placed further and further back.

With a dramatic bow, Shingen addressed the spectators. “Greetings my friends and” … another bow to Mai who was cuddled up with Kenshin, “Goddess.” He then gestured to me. “My newest recruit has been bragging about his prowess with a bow. And since it’s such a beautiful day outside, it seems a perfect occasion to test him on this.”

No pressure there. Thanks boss.

Yuki, who had taken the whole “no-dessert” thing to heart, was pacing out the distance to the targets. Not exactly necessary, but since he’d been getting on my nerves, bouncing around my peripheral vision like a boxer’s trainer before the title match, I told him to go for it.

“Katsuhira will demonstrate the skills of accuracy and distance.” Shingen continued, while the vassal who this morning had held the bets was already running a book on this show as well. I noted Sasuke was first in line, and hoped that this time, he was betting on me, not against.

Yuki trotted back to me and said, “forty paces for the small targets, going all the way back to 150 for the big ones in the back.” Not even 100 meters, then. The targets Aki had had me practicing on were closer to 150, so this shouldn’t be a challenge – I mean, it wasn’t like they were asking me to bullseye whomp rats from a T-16. However, I would have liked to have been warned before this whole thing started, because I was getting tired of warlords and spymasters making decisions about my life without consulting me, but…details.

“Thanks Yuki. Better go place your bet and get that no-dessert thing in writing.”

While everyone got in on the betting action, I stood there trying to shut the world out. It was easier to pretend I was back at The Mountain, staring at the targets set out in front of the pear trees and the stables that I would have to repair if I missed a shot. There wasn’t any wind today, which was one thing I wouldn’t have to worry about. There was, however, a caterpillar crawling across my toes, but having killed one life form this week, I wasn’t about to compound that by killing another, so I ignored it.

I progressively narrowed my focus until it was a straight line from me to the first target. Then, without turning my head I said to Shingen. “Ready.”

“Not so fast.”

What? What now?

With my tunnel vision destroyed, I turned to look at him. He smiled and there was a hint of mockery in that look that boded ill for me. He turned to Mai, who handed him a long strip of fabric. “You did say you could have made that shot blindfolded.”

I had said that, yes indeed. Note to self. Stay away from hyperbole when discussing your skills.

I have trained a lot blindfolded, as Aki’s got an entire Jedi Master type philosophy when it comes to archery. But this was an unfamiliar field, and I needed a warm-up. “Practice shots first, without the blindfold,” I bargained.

He inclined his head. “Fair enough.”

I turned back to the targets and sent ten arrows in succession zipping toward the targets, trying to set muscle memory. I missed my second and seventh shots but hit the rest. Ok. I could do this. I would prefer not to have to do this in front of an audience with less than thirty minutes warning, but… I can do this.

“Ready,” I said again, this time not moving an inch from where I was standing, keeping my mental focus trained on where I felt – no, where I knew - the targets were. The tranquil air settled my senses, keeping me detached from everything except my bow and the inner vision of the targets.

Then Shingen stepped behind me, nearly as close as a hug, his body radiating heat, to tie the blindfold around my head. His breath and voice glided into my ear asking if I could see. Then he tightened it for good measure, and… there it was, a jolt that I felt when those warm, calloused fingers accidentally brushed across my face.

Reverb.

Ok, hormones, you and I need to have a long talk about choices... and timing.

[doomsdaybby]

pearl buttons | steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: steve helps you prepare for a job interview, and is the worst person to ask for outfit advice.

based on “well, how do I look?“ from this prompt list.

content/warnings: steve x bestfriend!reader, tooth-rotting fluff, first kiss, cringe clichés.

word count: 2k

this is nothing but a fluffy sickly sweet cringe-fest. but GOD, I love him, your honour.

“Oh my god, I'm going to be so late!” you exclaimed, hurriedly pulling blouses and skirts with no rhyme or reason from your wardrobe. Steve sits far too casually cross-legged on your bed, his nose wrinkling the more the pile of clothes grows.

“You’re thinking way too far into this” Steve mutters half-heartedly, too blasé and accustomed to your eccentric overreactions. “They’re going to love you!” he says as if his statement is obvious, but you could happily argue against it.

Steve had been enthusiastic about your interview offer the moment you received the letter, since you made him open it and read it aloud. But you had never actually thought you would get an interview, having received two refusals previously.

“Listen. You’re great with kids, and you’re amazing, like… in general” he motioned to your frame with an outstretched hand, before crossing his arms over one another and resting them on his chest. “There’s nothing for you to be worried about”, and you knew he meant every word with the way a growing warmth bloomed in your chest.

“Thanks, jerk” a small smirk crosses your face, one that has Steve’s stomach flipping and heart lurching, and you aim to ignore the butterflies fluttering up into your throat.

Steve rolls his eyes and ushers you away, having lazily thrown you a knee-length baby blue skirt and a white blouse he didn’t even look at. Because he knew you would look great in anything.

“Plus you’ll be a hot teacher, too” you heard him mumble under his breath as you entered the bathroom, cheeks bursting with hellfire as you were absolutely not supposed to hear that.

The blouse clung uncomfortably tight to your neck, and the skirt sat weird around the soft plush of your belly. You felt like you had tumbled head-first into Nancy's closet.

A few twirls in the mirror, tucking and untucking the blouse over and over, hating how your hair looked and assuming no matter what you put on you would never think it was good enough.

“Well, how do I look?” you asked as you stepped back into your room, glaring down at one large crease along the front of your blouse. You’re patting it down, gently pulling at the soft material in nimble delicate fingers. You look up when there’s no response, to find Steve just… staring. Heavy.

And Steve? Well, he couldn't ignore the sudden rush of hot blood that hammered in his cheeks; chest swelling and mouth hung open in a half-gawk just as any possible response died on the tip of his tongue.

So what was he supposed to say?

A million words crossed his mind, ones he had been dying to tell you for all of the years he had known you. How you could never look anything less than unequivocally perfect. His jaw tenses, eyes skipping over the top of your head right down to your toes in those stupid frilly white socks.

“You look… good” he finally says with a nod. Nailed it. But you’re gazing back at him with wide glittering puppy-dog eyes, chest collapsing in on itself and your bottom lip slips. Oh god please no, not the pout.

“Don’t- don’t do that face” he scowls at you tight lipped, and all you had to do was peer at him doe-eyed and apparently clueless for him to huff in flustered frustration. “With the lip thing-“ he sticks out his own bottom lip and bounces it with his index finger, “-and the eyes”.

Steve glances away, a small nervous smile crossing his face as he sweeps a hand across his forehead and down to cup his chin. A buzz tickles your ribcage, still not letting up with the expression that oh so clearly makes him melt.

“Oh come on, I think you always look good” he assures, a little defeated by your continued sullen guise that had his heart strangled in a relentless chokehold.

“You do?”

“Uh, yeah? You could walk in here wearing a trash bag and I'd give you the thumbs up.”

He stares again, especially when you tilt your head down and smile wide. You can feel the crushing weight of his gaze, and the collar on the stupid blouse itches, somehow constricting annoyingly tighter the longer he just… looked at you.

“I look… girly” you hum with a scrunch of your nose, bunching up the fabric of the skirt and ruching it theatrically. Another eye roll and Steve swings his legs round so he’s sat at the edge of your bed. “It’s your wardrobe” he scolds.

“Just-“ he beckons you over with a wave of his hand, and you follow blindly without question. You’re standing in front of him as he tuts and messes with the soft blouse, fingers fumbling at the pearl buttons; impatiently tucking and untucking just like you had done.

Steve is eye level with your diaphragm, eyes flickering up and down after every small tweak and change, somehow never satisfied with how he placed your clothing. You itch at your neck again, and he sighs exhaustedly, immediately trailing his fingers up to unbutton the collar.

His fingertips barely brush the bare skin of your neck, knuckles grazing, but the mere second of contact has his lingering touch branding your skin with searing heat. You can’t help but laugh nervously, breath kissing the tip of his nose, and a small smirk paints the corner of his lips.

“What?” he looks up at you, and within the closeness his faltering innocence has your heart melting and stomach swimming. You shake your head, chewing on the inside of your cheek. God, has he always smelled this good? Lemon and cedarwood, completely intoxicating.

“Nothing” you dismiss him with a clear of the throat, and Steve’s eyebrow twitches as he returns his focus to the hem of your skirt, fidgeting with a button that had become trapped in a loose strand.

“Fuck” he mutters, and there’s a pressure where the waistline of the skirt digs into your back as he tries to yank the button free, gently at first but Steve quickly becomes agitated.

“Here, let me do it” you ignore the blossoming fervour that twinkles in your chest like fairy lights as your fingers work over his, attempting to flick him away so you could untangle the mess he had made yourself.

“It’s okay, I think I got it” ignoring your lithe fingers that work to pry him out of the way, obscuring his vision and neither of you able to truly see what you were doing. “No, Steve, you don’t. Let me just-“

Pop. A barely audible rip, and the pearl button is rolling on the floor in the space between you. “Great, thanks for that” you scold him, bending at the knees to pick up the button just as Steve leans forward with a hand outstretched.

Bonk. Forehead against forehead, you clash hard enough to have you both lurching upwards and clutching your heads. “Fuck!” you exclaim in unison, and you’re giggling before Steve does.

Steve’s eyes are scrunched tight shut, face warped and you could tell it had hurt him more than it did you. Your shoulders bounced, inaudible laughter rattling your chest as his disposition cracked you up even more.

“Are you okay?” you asked him genuinely, pressing your palm to his hands that are laced together just above the crease in his interlocked brows. “Shit, I'm fine. I’m okay” he seethes at first, blinking open his eyes to watch your face as you dip down on your knees, pressing into the space between his legs.

“Are you sure?” you affirm, your other hand gently cupping his cheek that’s spread with smile lines. He’s so pretty. He laughs loudly, tone raising a little at the end - a tell tale sign of nerves unique to him.

Warm honey coloured eyes trace over your face - meeting your gaze, flicking down to your lips and back up again, noses merely an inch or so from touching. His skin is like fire beneath your touch, rising pulse evident below your fingertips.

He’s nodding, breathing a gentle “Yeah” barely above a whisper. Oh god, is this it? He’s leaning. Fuck shit, is he leaning forward?

Blood rushes to your ears and you’re not sure what to do, even when his hands slip from his forehead and reach forwards to frame your face.

A wisp of a kiss meets your lips, barely there and so careful. Those rising butterflies threaten to overspill and you’re tingly all over, spreading from the centre on your chest right down to the tips of your toes.

Heart hammering and head spinning, Steve retracts before you do, his eyes wide and curious. “Sorry-“ and you don’t give him the chance to even debate whether he made the wrong decision or not.

You bunched up the collar of his shirt to pull him back and pressed your lips to his again with more urgency, skating your hands back to grasp at the roots of his hair to plant him against you.

A breath of relief washes over your face and Steve holds you with one hand steadying at your ribcage, the other laced just behind your ear where his thumb can rest on your cheekbone.

Years worth of small compliments and steals of heated glances had built up to this; crushed hearts and stinging eyes seeing the other go on date after date. He was everything you knew he would be, soft and loving and nothing but gentle.

But you pull back just as his lips part, mouth chasing yours with his eyes still fluttered shut. “I’m going to be late” you whisper, and despite the hurt that this moment had to be cut short, Steve placed another quick kiss to the corner of your mouth.

Both beaming like idiots, toothy grins and gleeful giggles, you dig through the pile of clothes to retrieve a forest green blouse and a somewhat shorter black skirt. “Better?” still you asked for his opinion, Steve blinking at you with glossy brown eyes leaning back on his palms. “Like I said, I think you always look good”.

Steve held your hand the entire car journey, a careful thumb brushing feather light along the junction between your forefinger and thumb. He encouraged you with a kind, tender smile, and waited in his car, drumming his fingers patiently against the steering wheel, until you eventually jumped back in the passenger seat with a relieved exhale.

“How did it go?” he asked, worrisome of your silence and turning in his seat to face you. You looked at him and beamed the biggest smile he’d ever seen you possess, and he mirrored your expression within seconds.

“Great,” you answered honestly, “But I'm glad that it’s over”. You reach for his wrist and Steve is already moving forward in sync with you, the only thing on your mind throughout the entire interview was the feel of his lips on yours.

“Other things on your mind?” he asks with a cheeky grin just as the tips of your noses touch, earning a roll of your eyes and a mumbled “shut up” before you’re pulling him in. His hands fumble for your hair, open mouthed and eagerly inviting compared to the small unsure kiss you had shared merely an hour previously.

This one was greedy, especially how his touch slides down your neck and trails along your jawline, hooking at your chin so he can angle you anyway he wants. If being here with him exactly like this forever was an option, you wouldn't even have to think about your answer.

His cheeks are stippled the most beautiful shade of pink, chest rising and falling rapidly, grasping at your blouse and making noises you didn’t even think he could make. Melting into you, pulling you as close as the awkward space in the car would allow.

You push him away just as his teeth nibble at your bottom lip, not even daring to go too far right in front of the school you may potentially end up employed at. He’s smiling, so goofy and full of unwavering attention, glass eyed and half lidded.

“We can… go back to my place?” your small suggestion has his eyebrows raising in gracious surprise.

And you had never seen Steve Harrington drive so fast.

—————————————————————————

i’m learning that I cannot write slow pining build ups for shiittttttt! lmao. I love this but also kind of don’t. but if you do then make sure to let me know!

[henrycavillobsessed]

Hi - may I ask for an angsty one with Henry Cavill x girlfriend reader: During an evening walk with Kal, she gets attacked by a mugger. Struggling defending herself and Kal, she gets stabbed in the gut, but is so lost on her adrenaline rush she do not even notice! Fleeing the scene, she hurries home with Kal off leash. Already at the door, Henry sees that something is seriously wrong! Excessive use of the words "Im fine" and "Tend to Kal instead", before reader simply faints in the hallway...

It's been a while since I've written anything, so I was incredibly grateful for this request! I hope you don't mind, but I've written this as a Henry AU - Detective!Henry - with multiple parts, as I wanted to expand the story further. Thanks again for your request, part one is below! :)

Dark Side Of Me - Part One

AU Henry Cavill (Detective!Henry) x female reader

Words: 3,754

TW/CW: Angst/whump. Mentions of sex/trying for a baby. Violence/fighting/mugging/violence against an animal. Blood/mentions of injury. Bad language. Mentions of hospital/surgery. Pregnancy/miscarriage.

Notes: This is my very first AU Henry fic! Also, I know nothing about how policemen/police forces work, this is a fan written piece of fiction and I am likely to get something wrong. Anything I have written is for entertainment purposes only, and may not be 100% accurate. Any and all feedback welcome! :)

(Part two can be found here)

Henry was late home again. I wasn’t mad exactly; just disappointed. Laughing to myself- slightly bitterly- at the cliché, I sighed. As a detective superintendent, Henry’s job was incredibly demanding, not just on Henry himself but on his time too. Evenings like tonight happened more often than not, with Henry regularly rushing in through the door, a bunch of petrol station bought flowers balancing precariously on top of the stacks of files in his arms. Tonight was no exception.

“Hiya love, I am so sorry I’m late,” he said, handing me yellow roses, the cellophane wrapped around them rustling as he leaned in for a kiss. I felt my earlier disappointment evaporate somewhat. As a cop’s wife, I’d long ago resigned myself to this life, and was always grateful for all and any time I got to spend with him.

“It’s okay… although, hmm… yellow roses? Must mean you’re not quite finished working yet if you’ve bought me my favourite flowers,” I half-jokingly said to him with a smile. Henry sheepishly smiled back.

“You know me far too well, wife of mine.”

Sighing again, I took the flowers from him and went through into the kitchen to fetch a vase. Filling it with water, I heard Henry fussing Kal, our American Akita dog. I say ours, but it was no secret that Kal was a complete daddy’s boy. I might do the majority of feeding him, walking him and playing with him but the minute Henry was home I didn’t get a look in. Bringing the vase now filled with flowers into the living room, I put them next to the last lot he’d bought me, which were still fresh.

Henry followed me in, wrapping his long arms around me, resting his chin on the top of my head as he looked down at the flowers on the table. I could feel the guilt radiating from him, and turned to face him.

“Hey, it’s okay. I get it, you know I do.”

“I know, I know… It’s just you deserve so much better than these shitty flowers as apologies all the time…” Henry said, running his hands through his dark curly hair anxiously.

“Stop it. They’re lovely,” I soothed, taking his hands in mine and holding them between us. He smiled, a tired smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“You’re too good for me. I promise, I shouldn’t be too long with this paperwork tonight, and then we can go out for dinner, how about that? You choose where.”

I tried and failed to hide my excitement; eating dinner out together was such a rare occurrence, a real treat. “How about that lovely little Italian place we went to for my birthday last year?” I asked.

“Sounds perfect,” Henry replied, before kissing me gently on top of my head and turning around to remove his work jacket, the sight of his shirt pulling tight across his toned back causing my breath to hitch in my throat. We’d been married just over ten years, yet the test of time had done nothing to dull the allure he held.

In another universe, Henry could have been a model, or perhaps a Hollywood actor, being over six foot tall with his rugged jawline and heart-breaking smile, gentle blue eyes and of course, those super-soft brown curls, with the smattering of grey at the temples. His spent time on his appearance- working out daily with both weights and cardio, resulting in a muscular physique. Even his voice was attractive, smooth and deep. Yet the TV appearances Henry made weren’t red carpet affairs as an A-lister, but press conferences, informing the public of developments in big cases as the lead detective superintendent. The way Henry gave his speeches had a captivating effect, worthy perhaps of an Oscar, yet this wasn’t acting. The serious look on his face, the furrowed brow above dark and stormy eyes, mouth set in a grim line as he told the awaiting media of the criminals he was hunting paired with his tall and imposing stature and his sincere promises with that cultured accent that these dangerous people will be caught were all believed by the rapt and attentive faces in the audience below him, and the worried public watching from home. When Henry was getting statements from terrified victims, he was kind and patient, and many found him easy to open up to and confide in, and again believed him when he vowed to bring them justice. It wasn’t just his words that put people at ease either, his track record for solved cases was near enough perfect, and he never filed away a case until it was solved, even if it meant working on it for longer than was to be expected. And when it came to chasing after and finally catching those he pursued it then became obvious that all the time spent working out at the gym wasn’t for reasons of vanity; his strength and stamina meant the villains were absolutely no match for him, and when he had them opposite him in handcuffs, his intelligence and dark coercion made quick work of getting a confession out of them. His co-workers said that Henry often put them to shame, saying he was going to push them out of a job, yet they were only joking; Henry was a joy to work with, his charming smile and helpful demeanor meant he made friends wherever he went, and his superiors never had a bad word to say about him either and all his reviews always came back glowing. He was universally loved by the public, his peers and of course, by me. I was in awe of him every day, and counted myself more than lucky that I was the one he’d asked to be his wife, even if I did have to share him with the job; it was worth it.

Henry caught me staring. “Like what you see, hmm?” he winked, and laughed out loud when I blushed.

“Hey, I won’t be made me to feel embarrassed for lusting after my own husband!” I replied, playfully swatting at him. “But as a matter of fact, yes I do like what I see.”

“Well maybe you can see more of it later, after dinner, if you’re lucky,” he purred, and I felt my body heat in response. “And if we’re both lucky, tonight might be the night we make a little Henry or Y/N… what do you think?”

I looked up at him in adoration. We loved our life together, being happily married and each had our own careers, our beautiful town house in the center of London, and of course, our wonderful Kal, but recently we’d decided that we wanted to expand our family and felt it was time to start thinking about welcoming a baby of our own into our lives. It was difficult to try properly with how busy Henry was with work, so we’d had a long chat about how we weren’t going to get our hopes up too much, I was just going to come off my contraception and we’d see what happens. I was genuinely okay with this arrangement, however whenever he said things like that it made my heart swell.

“I love you, Mr Cavill,” I whispered.

“I love you too, Mrs Cavill,” he replied, kissing me deeply.

Just then, Kal’s whining from the hallway floated into the living room; we both knew he was sat by his leads hanging up by the front door as it was time for his nightly walk. Usually Henry and I took him out together. Henry looked guilty again.

“How about I take him whilst you get the rest of your work done? Then by the time I get back we can both get ready and head out for dinner?” I said.

“Are you sure? I don’t like the idea of you going out on your own…”

“I won’t be on my own, I’ll be with Kal,” I assured him. “Plus, I won’t take him far, just through the park and around the block?”

“Okay, but take your phone, and keep an eye on your surroundings,” he said, worriedly.

“Yes, Detective Cavill, sir!” I laughed, making him smile. “Honestly, I’ll be fine. See you in a bit.”

Kissing him quickly and telling him again that I loved him, I grabbed Kal and we both flew out the front door, leaving Henry at his desk surrounded by his paperwork, all of us blissfully unaware of what was about to happen.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was a typical November evening; pitch black already even though it was barely 7pm, cold and blustery, with the threat of rain hanging in the air. I wish I’d put on something thicker than my old rain mac, and was glad I was only taking Kal on a short stroll. We’d been through the park already, the huge fluffy bear happily stopping and sniffing every lamppost and flowerbed we walked by, his tail constantly wagging. We were now walking back towards our house down the back alleys, and even though I’d said to Henry I’d be fine, I couldn’t help feeling slightly on edge; I suppose this was part of being a policeman’s wife, always aware that there could be danger lurking in the dark. I was grateful for my huge dog and his intimidating presence, well, as intimidating as he could be with his big slobbery smile and his tongue lolling out the side of his mouth. I laughed at his infectious joy and ruffled his ears.

“Not long now boy and we’ll be home in the warm,” I said to him conversationally. “I wonder how you dad is getting on-“ I stopped mid sentence. Kal’s mood had suddenly shifted; his ears flattened back, and a growl was beginning low in his throat. I looked around for whatever it was that had spooked him, getting my phone out of my pocket, Henry’s number first on my speed dial. I didn’t get chance to call as a hand flew out of the darkness, knocking the phone out of my hand; I heard it shatter somewhere on the concrete behind me.

“Not the night for a pretty little thing like you to be walking alone,” said a voice. Kal bared his teeth as a man emerged from the shadows. He was wearing a dark tracksuit, a cap pulled low over his face. I didn’t answer him, my eyes darting for an escape route. We were so close to home, if I could just run…

“I know you,” the stranger said. “You’re that cunt cop’s missus. I’ve seen him on the telly, seen you both out together.” Still, I said nothing. “Reckon you’ve got some decent dosh on you if you’re married to a pig…”

“Look, I’m just out walking my dog,” I said, frightened but firm. “I don’t have anything to give you, I don’t have my bag with me. Please, leave me alone…” I tried to move past him, but he stepped into my path, blocking me.

“Hmm, that won’t do… what about the dog? Bet he’s worth some money,” his mouth split into a menacing grin under the cap as he moved to snatch Kal’s lead from me. I pushed him back with as much power as I could muster, hoping it would be enough to make enough time to escape and run home, but I wasn’t quick enough. His fist pulled back and then rammed into my face with so much force that I felt my nose break, and I screamed.

Kal launched himself between me and the mugger, attempting to bite his hand, the one that had punched me, but again the man powered up his fist, this time hitting Kal on his snout and he yelped.

“No! Leave him alone!” I screamed again. The stranger laughed viciously, punching Kal again and this time I got in front of him, flailing at him, attempting to hurt him in any way I could, any way that would stop him for beating my dog, stealing him…

“You fucking bitch, get off!” he yelled, and then howled in pain as Kal’s teeth finally connected with their target; his tracksuit sleeve was shiny with the same blood that was now smeared on Kal’s muzzle. He was now completely enraged, and he plunged his hand into his trouser pocket; I saw a glint of silver as he ran like a bull to a red flag towards Kal… I jumped in front my dog, arms outstretched, protecting him from the incoming assault, and just in time, our attacker’s hand connected with my stomach rather than Kal’s face, punching me harder than I was expecting, pain shooting across my abdomen, and I felt the air whoosh out of my lungs, winding me. Quickly though I regained myself, adrenaline coursing through my veins, and I screamed louder than ever, propelling my entire body at him and finally, he fell, landing flat on his back on the pavement, slick with his own blood.

“Kal, come on! Let’s go! Get home!” I shouted frantically, and Kal took off, his lead lost in the struggle, with me running behind, not looking back, only forward, to help, to Henry.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Back at home, Henry looked up from the case report he’d lost himself in, at the clock on the mantelpiece, and was surprised to see how much time had passed since you and Kal had left for their walk. You should have been back by now, and immediately he felt ice plunge into his stomach; something was wrong, his detective instincts were telling him. Grabbing his phone he dialled your number, and was dismayed when he heard your voicemail message. Anxiety prickling at him, he quickly thought through options. Logic was telling him not to panic, maybe you’d just run into someone you knew and were chatting? But he knew better; you never went anywhere without a charged phone, and you’d always let him know if you’d be late home, even if was only going to be a couple of minutes. Throwing a hand through his hair agitatedly, he decided he would go over to the park, see if he could find you both. That’s when he heard a dog’s howl and his heart stuttered with fear.

Henry ran towards the sound of the animal, praying it wasn’t Kal, hoping against hope it was another dog, and threw open the back door to see Kal sprinting up the garden path, the akita throwing himself into Henry, whining desperately.

“Kal! What is it boy? Where’s your mum? Is that- is that blood?!” Henry held Kal’s face in his hand trying to inspect it, but Kal barked and wrenched himself away from Henry’s grasp, turning his head in the direction of the bottom of the garden. Henry followed his gaze and saw you, still upright, but barely, staggering through the gate. Henry flew towards you.

“Y/N! Y/N, are you okay?!” he cried, grabbing you, holding you up. He could see blood on your face too, coming from your nose. Anger coursed through him.

“Henry, oh my god, Henry, this guy, he tried to… he punched Kal… hurt Kal…”

“Kal is okay… come on, let’s get you in, you’re bleeding…”

“No, no, I’m fine, need to check Kal… Kal…”

Henry suddenly had the realisation that something was seriously wrong with you, something more than the obvious broken nose. You were shaking severely, ice cold and pale. He held you at arm’s length, eyes raking you up and down, checking for… oh god, he thought, no, no, no…

A dark stain was blooming across the bottom of the purple raincoat you were wearing… Henry ripped it open and pulled off your t-shirt; it ripped away easily and Henry cried out vehemently at the sight of the wound underneath. It was clear you’d been stabbed. No, no, no…

“Henry?” came your quiet voice. “Henry?”

“It’s okay love, it’s okay, you’re okay, come on, I’m going to get you some help…” Henry’s voice caught as you fell to your knees, head lolling against your chest. “Come on Y/N, come on, you’re okay, you’re going to be okay…” He lifted you into his arms, speeding into the house and lying you down on the sofa, the blood flowing too fast from the hole in your stomach. I’ve got to stop the bleeding, Henry thought, his mind going into emergency mode.

“Kal… we need to help Kal… he hurt our Kal, Henry…” you whispered from the sofa as Henry whipped the tablecloth away from the dining table with one hand and dialled the emergency number with the other.

“I know, look, he’s okay though, see?” Henry said as he used the tablecloth to attempt to stop the bleeding; in an instant it was soaked through. Kal whimpered slightly, peering at you worriedly from behind Henry. You smiled faintly, and then, suddenly, your face went slack as a trickle of bright scarlet blood flowed from the corner of your mouth and your eyes rolled back in your head. You went completely still, and Henry saw, with icy terror flooding into his mouth, that you had stopped breathing. Roaring your address down the phone to the operator, he tossed the phone aside and started CPR. Come on, come on… don’t die, you can’t die… he thought desperately. Please, please, don’t let her die… I’ll do anything, please don’t take her from me…

He openly cried with relief when the ambulance arrived and the paramedics raced in, immediately taking over from Henry with the CPR, and sobbed when he saw you take a breath. He stood on the front step, watching as they sped you away with full blue lights and sirens- “we’ll be taking her into surgery Mr Cavill, if you can follow behind us” – and as the adrenaline left his system, he looked down to see his shirt and hands completely covered in your blood, and he fell to the floor, the sobs wracking his body as they clawed their way up his throat.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kal, Henry thought, composing himself and rushing back inside to check on the dog. He found him shaking next to the blood-soaked sofa, and checking him over thoroughly, it soon became apparent that Kal hadn’t been stabbed either, to Henry’s immense relief.

“Come here, boy,” he said, holding out his arms, to which Kal gratefully nuzzled in to. Henry held him until they both stopped shaking, and retrieving his phone, Henry called one of his brothers who thankfully lived close by, and promised to be there in less than ten minutes to take Kal to the vet for a check up, just in case.

As he cuddled Kal and waited for his brother, Henry had a thought, his detective mind coming back into focus now the shock was wearing off. That blood on Kal’s muzzle, I don’t think that’s hers… Standing up, he went to his work bag and got out one of the blood-sample tubes he kept in his field kit. Speaking to his dog in calm, soothing tones, he put on a pair of rubber gloves, and carefully scraped off the drying blood from Kal’s fur, before screwing the lid on tightly and dropping the tube into an evidence bag, which he then put in his pocket.

Just then, Henry’s brother arrived, and Henry hurriedly caught him up, and they gave each other a swift hug before each of them raced off in their respective cars, one to the vet and the other to the hospital.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Detective Superintendent Cavill, hi,” said the on-call surgeon to Henry as he strode into the ICU. Henry recognised him, having worked with him before on past cases, and was pleased it was him who had been the one to operate on you tonight.

“Hey, doc. How is she?” Henry asked, trying to keep the worry from his voice, and failing.

“It was touch and go for a while, and she is in a critical but stable condition. The next twenty-four hours will give us an idea of her prognosis,” replied the surgeon. “Although, I’m afraid I do have some bad news…”

“Bad news?” A hundred different thoughts and scenarios raced through Henry’s mind; panic threatened to overwhelm him.

“Perhaps it’s best if we sit down for a minute,” the surgeon led him to a private room. “When we were operating, we noticed Mrs Cavill was hemorrhaging not only from her abdomen, but from her uterus too. She was… she was pregnant, but the trauma to her body from the stabbing was too much. We did everything we could to stop it, but she miscarried. I’m so sorry.”

The doctor’s voice was drowned out by an odd whirring in Henry’s ears. His voice seemed disconnected to his body. “She was pregnant?” he whispered.

“I understand this is a shock. If there’s anything I can do, please let me know.” The surgeon looked at him with pity.

Henry stood up, hands thrown through his hair again; his giveaway tell for stress. “Yeah doc, um, do me a favour actually. Don’t tell her, if – when – she wakes up. I’ll tell her, I want to be the one.”

“Yes, of course.”

“Thank you. Will she be okay if I step out for a while? I need to get to the station, see if we can start going about catching whoever did this…”

“Absolutely; she’s in the best place. I will call if anything changes.” The surgeon stood too.

“Thanks doc,” Henry grasped and shook the surgeon’s hand, before leaving the private room and heading down the corridor to see you.

Nothing could have prepared him for the sight that greeted him. Of course, over his years in the force, Henry had seen plenty of disturbing and upsetting scenes, but this, seeing his wife, the woman he was in love with, his whole life led on that bed surrounded by wires and beeping machines, a thick white bandage wrapped around her torso, an oxygen mask dominating her face… this was definitely the worst. And to know you had been pregnant… cold anger and grief washed over him, his hands balling into fists at his sides.

“I’ll find who did this,” Henry whispered as he leant over and kissed your forehead. “I’ll find him and I’ll make him pay in every way I can, I promise.”

As he headed down the corridor and out of the hospital, the little vial of blood in its evidence bag burned a hole in his pocket.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thanks for reading! Check back soon for part 2!

Part Two can be found here

[poedamern]

As a hoe who loves clichés, i beg for injured reader passing out in front of poe

as someone who ALSO loves clichés, and a good hurt/comfort fic, i'm so happy you requested this, thank u anon. i hope i don't disappoint! 💜 — J.

holding the truth.

set post sequel trilogy at ajan kloss, reader makes it out of a battle between the resistance and first order sympathisers, looking a little worse for wear, all while hiding it from poe. queue passing out sequence.

pairing: poe dameron x gn!reader (they/them). wordcount: 2.4k (oops). warnings: hurt/comfort, slight angst? blood, injury, fainting, fluff, happy ending!

you just had to make it back to base and keep it together until ajan kloss was safe. the problem was trying to do that without poe getting wind of you being injured.

first order sympathisers were adamant about seeing the resistance up in flames, quite literally too, storming the jungle moon in the outer rim in hopes of a belated victory after rey's triumph in exegol. general poe and finn tactically gave orders from the air and the ground with ease, rey leading the rebels as the resistance came to defend their home.

unfortunately, you weren't as tactical in your efforts, as a long-range blaster was able to shoot your side, singeing parts of your shirt and skin. at first, you thought it was just a simple graze, too focused on having just seen your timely death flash before your eyes. but the more you fought on, downing the man who shot you, trenching deeper into the forest, you knew you were in trouble.

blood soaked your side, feeling it run down to your thigh. you did your best to patch yourself up, stealing a fallen sympathiser's jacket to protect and hide the wound. in the rush of all of this, surely no one would notice but if anyone found out and told poe over comms– he didn't need that right now.

you fight on, pushing the thought aside and luckily, just as the sun was close to setting, the resistance made it through the attack mostly unscathed, finn ordering rey and poe back to base to join in celebrations. it was always something to be happy for and you had zero plans of ruining it for anyone.

slotting your blaster back into its holster, you watched as poe landed back at base, a smile on your lips knowing he was okay. trudging your way back at a slightly unbearable pace, taking deep breaths in order to keep composure, you mutter to yourself. "just a little longer."

he was looking for you the second he landed. throwing his helmet off and jumping out of the cockpit, he scanned the horizon in search of your face. he needed to know you were okay, not satisfied with finn and rey's ground reports of your earlier status. "they're fine poe, now pay attention!" "for once poe, listen to rey." listen to rey his ass, poe needed to see you for himself.

a part of you hesitates as he makes eye contact with you but as his eyes gleam, face instantly lighting up at the sight of you, how could you hesitate with a face like that? you pick up the pace towards him until he's pulling you into his chest.

"hi." you whisper softly into his ear, arms wrapping around his waist. he was warm from just being in the cramped x-wing but you didn't care.

"hey." he says nonchalantly even though the smile on his face grows even wider, enamored with seeing you back at base. "kill any sympathisers?" he asks, raising a brow, lips now curved into a playful grin.

"of course, blow anything up?" you ask with a small laugh, mimicking his expressions. though your side screams out in pain, a reminder time may not be on your side.

"of course." poe exclaims, ready to joke around before his eyes scan over your jacket. his warm smile turns into a confused frown. "this isn't yours–" tilting his head to the other side, he trails off. "or mine–" grabbing the fabric between his fingers, he pulls it aside out of curiosity. "y/n." the moment he sees your side, he freezes.

the act was up. how were you going to explain this one? a shaky laugh passes your lips, wincing as he goes to touch your side. "yeah, about that–"

poe's gaze darts back and forth between your face and your side before solely focusing on the bloodstains that sprawled across your side. "what. happened." he's stern. better yet, mad. "why didn't you say anything over comms? do you know how bad this is? i would've been down here in seconds if you just said so–" his voice gets louder and louder the more his anger fuels him.

the crowd around you starts to listen in, concern washing over their faces. finn is the first to emerge from the crowd, walking towards you both. "poe, what's going on?"

poe's too focused on your injury that he doesn't notice the way your face drains, the colour leaving your cheeks, or how your eyes struggle to stay open. "poe– look– it's okay." you stagger through your words, through his complaints.

your vision starts to blur, in and out of focus, until the darkness takes over. scared, you can't feel your legs or your hands and the world suddenly feels too cold and too hot at the same time. you think you reach towards poe but your fingertips never reach him.

"y/n!" poe takes a leap forward, hand grabbing a hold of your arm and pulling it towards him to stop your momentum backward, as the other caresses the back of your head before it can hit the ground. in a strained attempt of softening your fall, poe pulls you into his arms as you both tumble to the ground.

his eyes widen, fear striking him in the face as he stares down at you. you're out cold and your breaths are coming in short, labored, lips now turning pale from how much blood you've lost. "y/n." he mumbles, hand now coming to your cheek. as if in disbelief, he shakes your head gently to wake you but you don't respond.

"get a medic out here. now!" poe orders, voice booming to whoever is closest, not turning his head to even look, only keeping his eyes on you. finn jolts into action and soon medics are by your side carrying you into the infirmary, poe right on your tail.

+

the world seems dull, secondary to you as poe looks on, sitting by your bed, now back in your quarters after a few hours on the surgery table. the blast got you worse than anyone expected and tore more than a simple stitch could fix.

'it's best for them to be back in a familiar space. i promise general, the wound will heal relatively quickly, they just need time." one of the medics advised, squeezing his shoulder in reassurance before heading out for the night.

poe thanked them for their service but couldn't help but worry. especially when you had hidden the injury from him in the first place. thoughts raced through his mind but he could find out why you did that later. for now, he wanted you back and he wasn't going anywhere until you were yourself again.

with visits from rey and finn, rose too, familiar faces came to check in on you but also on poe. you were strong, always bounced back in style. but they didn't need one of their best pilots and general depriving himself of basic necessities.

rey nagged him over it, offering– and well– threatening, to heal you quicker with the force if it meant poe stopped being quote-on-quote 'so dramatic'. not even their bickering could wake you up. while finn brought different refreshments and even his personal favourite snacks after he woke from the battle of starkiller base. rose brought more comforting items such as blankets, extra pillows, knowing you'd have to basically be bubble wrapped for the weeks to come.

poe was thankful for all of it, truly. but oh how you would make fun of him for it once you found out. it's thoughts like those that keep him at bay as he waits for you to wake.

+

it comes as a splitting headache when you wake, the light flooding your vision all at once until it was a dim orange glow that spread across the room. your room. slowly blinking away the sleep in your eyes, you see the fluff of hair on your chest before you register who it belongs to.

an adoring smile plasters your face at the scene in front of you. with eyes closed, poe was quietly snoozing on your chest, facing you, hair disheveled, probably from him rubbing his face into you. he was always clingy when you were alone together.

you feel his warm hand gently covering your bandages, the expanse of his hand almost covering it entirely, unconsciously protecting it from any more dangers that could possibly find you in your quarters.

it was criminal to wake him in this state. he probably hadn't gotten proper sleep all night, the morning glow was evidence enough that he never left this room. but maker you missed him, needed to see those warm eyes again.

bringing your hand to his curls, you gently run your fingers through them before settling on his cheek. "poe." your voice softly croaks, causing you to cough.

he wakes instantly, eyes darting to you, a hand coming up to clasp yours. you chuckle at his reaction, hand only tightening onto his. "hey flyboy." you tease him with the nickname. only reserved for when you wanted to make him roll his eyes.

but instead, his eyes soften, the backs of his knees pushing his chair back to stand closer to you as his lips pressed against your forehead, mumbling against your skin. "you're back." he leaves kisses across your face, your cheeks, nose, all while being as gentle as possible. "gods you're back."

"as if i'd ever leave you, dameron." your voice feels like gravel in your throat. poe picks up on it without needing to ask, speeding across the room to get a glass of water, coming back and helping you drink.

"how do you feel?" he asks, brows curved in worry. he knew what it felt like to wake up after a blaster wound, his arm suffering a similar fate not too long ago.

"i mean, not the best feeling in the world– obviously– but considering how bad it looked, i feel okay. having you here helps." you smile softly up at him as you set the glass back down.

poe takes your hand in both of his as he sits back down next to you, eyes training across your features. you can see the question on his face before he even asks it. perhaps not the best timing on his part but you could tell it was digging at his conscious.

"be honest." he swallows, nervous. "why didn't you tell me?" he stares at your intertwined hands, not really ready to hear your answer.

"you said it yourself–" your grip tightens on his own, the effort required making your hand shake. he interlaces your fingers with his, steadying, relaxing your tired muscles.

"–if i said the word, you'd land that x-wing just to be by my side." you echo his words from earlier loosely, a thoughtful yet understanding look on your face as you gauge his reaction.

the tips of poe's ears redden in shame. the anger he directed towards you when you were seconds from passing out. his own worry and protectiveness clouding his better judgment. it was shameful.

"the resistance relies on you poe." you continue, now staring up at the ceiling as if looking up into a starry night sky. "as much as i love the idea of you dropping everything for me– sometimes i need you to put that love and loyalty in a little box to the side for safekeeping. just for a moment, for a mission, for the task at hand."

poe sits in silence. pondering with his own thoughts as rey and finn's words come back in flashes.

they're fine. pay attention. listen.

you could tell he was burying himself into a hole that would take weeks for him to get out of. you needed poe here, present with you. not regretting his choices.

"i don't hold the truth from you to hurt you. i do it to protect you, protect us. we look out for each other in ways we don't always say." at your words, his eyes finally meet yours.

"we're both guilty of it. i took it too far this time and i'm sorry. but poe– you couldn't have done anything better, quicker, if you were here or there." you ramble on, reading his own thoughts back to him like a damn open book.

however, your words start to catch up with you, taking in a deep contemplative breath.

"i know." voice low, poe affirms what you were both thinking. he sighs, slightly in defeat but one he's willing to take because it's you. he wasn't going to argue any longer than he already had. he was just happy to have you back.

you feel a well of melancholy pool in your chest, the fight, the wound, how scared you felt moments before falling. everything was finally catching up to you. your lips quiver slightly as you look at him. "would it be okay if–" you pause for a moment, feeling overwhelmed.

"anything. anything you need." he leans in closer to you, seeing your eyes starting to well. here he was concerning himself over specifics when you had only been awake for minutes, if that. whatever you needed was now his need too.

"would it be okay if you laid down with me?" the question is so innocent, so simple. it breaks poe's heart thinking you ever even hesitated to ask. but recognising the fact you were dealing with so much all at once, he was quick to slip his shoes off, shrugging out of his outerwear– more bed appropriate– before sliding in next to you.

"you know you never have to ask, right?" he whispers as he noses the side of your face, gently pulling you in close until you were curled up against him. the tears that fought to spill now fading away as if all you needed was poe on you, skin to skin.

"i know." you mumble into his shirt, arms slinking around him, grabbing fistfuls of the fabric, desperate to never let go.

poe hums softly, bringing rose's pile of mix-matched blankets up closer to you both. "i'm sorry i so was quick to get mad, i'm sorry for not noticing your pain and giving you the comfort you needed sooner–" your lips part but he beats you to the chase.

"and yes, none of it is my fault. but i owe you an apology. so please, allow it, for me." poe kisses the top of your head as his hand pushes the stray hairs out of your face.

you huff. "fine. allowed." poe laughs and only holds you tighter, tilting his head down as he brings your chin upwards. "allowed, allowed?" "super allowed." you reply before meeting him halfway, pressing your lips to his in a soft kiss.

"i love you."

"i love you too."

[simpfiles]

Can you write headcanons for an insecure Silco with a hot partner that gets flirted with a lot? thanks!

i admire those who know what they want and ask for it, even if what they want is cliché af lmao. edit: i read this wrong and thought you wanted the partner to flirt back.my bad. enjoy the hurt anyways.

silco is meticulous about his appearance, stoic and hellenistic, his insecurities rarely surface through his facial expressions and his insecurities are many and LOUD. being betrayed by the one you called flesh and blood will do that to a person. but it goes deeper than that. back to his roots as a child. 

silco has always been slender. a byproduct of spending his time in the mines and never having enough to eat. lanky legs, tooth pick arms, thin fingers, a cardboard silhouette... even his cheeks lacked the subtle swell that could soften his features. his nose curved, at the bridge, and he guesses that’s something.

you have curves; supple thighs, soft stomach, perfect lips that curve to a smile when you look at him. he likes to squeeze you when he holds you. something you hated at first because it made you self-conscious but he’d always quill your insecurities with adulation, “Don’t be. You’re perfect.”

his praises are different from the orgy of "compliments" you receive in a day. while side by side they may share the same words, their delivery is different, holding opposing sentiments. when others are careless and rushed, usually strung together in a drunken slur, with only the promise of a quickie in the back by the dumpster, his are reverent. and he lets you know.

he takes it upon himself to expose the inadequacies of others to you. how none of them are worth your time. that you are far above them. they will never understand you the way he does. will never love you the way he does. as if the truth of your existence is within his sole custody.

you used to like making him jealous. a horrible habit of yours that had a body count but call it an addiction. the way you'd retreat to his presence when he came near, wrapping your arms around his to feel the seething tension of his muscles. it was intoxicating, looking in his eye and seeing so clearly that you were the subject of his obsessive adoration only for them to shift and you catch the glance of a jealous scorn that attributed to his effortless handsome face. then there was the aftermath sex. WOW. how could you know what you were doing was wrong when he made you feel so good afterwards, practically rewarding you for your transgression?

but then you took it too far.

you made a comment about going on a trip with someone, who you knew he'd hate, already preparing yourself for a fun afternoon of 'stay with me' sex. but when you established eye contact his teal iris wasn't glossed over with jealousy; it was betrayal.

that day ya'll had your first serious fight. it was loud. it was long. and it was all your fault.

that night was dedicated to damage control, with you doing all you could to mend silco's frail impressionable heart. you cradle his head in your lap, petting his hair in a comforting manner with long strokes. your fingers ever so often looping back to brush against his cheekbones. there are still tear stains from before. You're a horrible person. he brings a hand to press yours against his cheek, and leans into your thighs, shifting the rest of his body to its side.

you continue your soothing menstruations with you other hand. there are so many things you want to say to him to reassure him that he's the only one for you and that nothing will ever change that. but both of you have said enough words for a day. so you settle with "I will never leave you, Silco. You're perfect."

[demonsandco]

Smut Alphabet - Lucifer

All the letters for Luci have been answered now, so here's a post compiling them all together!

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

When he’s the one in charge, Luci acts like the king of aftercare. As much as he loves seeing his partner fall apart, he always makes sure to put them back together in the end. His go to thing is running a hot bath for his partner, letting him clean them up while also giving him a reason to hold them close and relax for once. After the bath, he’s pretty much at their beck and call, willing to run out and get them anything they need until they're ready to go to bed. It’s one of the only times when Luci won’t put up a fight about going to bed at a decent hour, instead opting to snuggle under the covers and pulling his partner close to his chest.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

For a long while, Lucifer’s favorite parts of him were his wings, but now they carry too many memories for him to view them with the same light. Now, his favorite body part would be his hands. He has long fingers and a firm grip, perfect for grabbing his partner’s wrists with one hand and pinning them down.

When it comes to his partner, Lucifer’s favorite body part of theirs is their neck. It’s such a vulnerable part of their body and it’s his favorite place to leave marks. It’s a trust thing for him, as well as something that makes him feel powerful. Knowing that he could kill them in a second with his sharp teeth pressed to their throat, yet they trust him not to hurt them excites him to no end.

(cont under the cut)

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Lucifer cums a pretty average amount, but he can do so quite a few times in a row. His favorite place to cum is in his S/O’s mouth or on their face. Marking them in such a way feeds into his pride, and he can’t help but admire how wonderful they look covered on his seed. He would never force them to swallow it when he does this, but if they choose to, he is left feeling awed and even hornier than before.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Lucifer is more than prepared to take this secret to his grave, but he has, on more than one occasion, fantasised about having a pact master use their pact with him during sex, with consent of course. It’s the idea of trusting his partner to the point where he puts his life in their hands and gives them complete control that gets to him. He’d be able to just lay back and stop thinking for once, while they use him however they see fit, without him needing to make a single decision. If his actual S/O ever suggests something like that, he’d be overjoyed internally, but he plays it off as simply playing along with their idea. He refuses to let anyone know how much he enjoys the thought because of how embarrassing he finds it.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Lucifer has quite a bit of experience, but only when it comes to sex involving BDSM dynamics. He doesn’t mind hooking up with someone if he has the option to have complete control for the night. The type of sex he’s used to is very much lacking in emotional connection. He’s left feeling a bit unsure of himself when it comes to more vanilla sex, being the submissive one, or just sex that involves emotions. He knows what he likes and he’s very skilled in the physical aspect, it just takes him a bit of time to get into the flow of things with a partner that he actually cares about. Especially when emotions are involved. He desperately wants his partner to know how much they mean to him, but he’s not quite sure how to translate his emotions into actions from the very start.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Lucifer’s favorite position is surprisingly vanilla in nature. Call him old fashioned or cliché, but he’s very fond of the missionary position. It doesn’t matter to him who’s on the top and who’s on the bottom, he’s fine with filling either role. He enjoys the closeness that it offers, pressing his chest against his partner’s and feeling each time they take a breath. Plus it offers so much versatility! He’s in the perfect place to kiss his partner as much as he wants, but he can also bury his face in their neck, leaving kisses and love bites, while also muffling his moans.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Lucifer very much prefers to take things seriously. He likes keeping the mood sensual and heated, and goofiness gets in the way of that. Some playfulness or teasing is perfectly fine, and even encouraged by him, but outright humor or jokes is something he’d rather avoid. If his partner insists on being humorous, he’d see it as them being bratty, and won’t hesitate to gag or punish them if they don’t listen to his warnings. It makes for a very easy way to rile him up, if that’s what they’re looking to do. His only focus in the moment is their pleasure (or pain) and his behavior reflects that.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

As with anything to do with his appearance, Lucifer takes meticulous care of his body hair. He constantly keeps it trimmed and short, even if he doesn’t have a partner who would be seeing it at the time. He’s prideful of how he looks and puts a lot of time into looking well put together in all aspects, even if no one will see it. He has a nice amount of body hair in general, though, his pubes leading up into a thin happy trail and a light dusting of hair over his chest. It’s all black in colour, just like the base of his hair.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Surprisingly, Lucifer is very intimate in the moment. He considers sex itself to be an intimate and romantic activity. He needs to trust his partner quite a bit to feel comfortable letting them see him in such a potentially vulnerable position and that really shows. Even if he’s acting rough and dominating, he still can’t help but let a bit of softness and love seep into his words and actions. It’s one of the only times where he can voice his emotions easily, without his pride getting in the way.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Despite having a very high libido, Lucifer rarely takes the time to take care of his needs. He usually puts it off in favor of working, until he suddenly realises just how long it's been, and how needy he feels. It leaves him feeling so pent up and tense, not to mention unbearably sensitive, but getting himself off just doesn’t leave him feeling satisfied enough to be worth the time. He would much rather get off with a partner than on his own, and he’s willing to stay all worked up until then.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

This comes as a surprise to no one, but Lucifer loves bondage. Having his partner tied, watching them wiggle helplessly, unable to escape his touch, never fails to excite him and make his heart race. However, not only does Lucifer enjoy tying up his partner, he also loves to be the one getting tied up. The feel of tight ropes biting into his skin as he squirms under their gaze sends blood rushing straight to his dick. Especially when he thinks about how much trust he’s putting in them. He’s leaving himself open and helpless, yet he knows that they’ll never do anything he genuinely dislikes, just as he would never do that to them

On a similar note, Lucifer is also very fond of temperature play, especially when combined with bondage or even sensory deprivation. He likes the subtle blend of pain and pleasure that comes with it, alongside the anticipation of not knowing which will come next. He could spend hours teasing his partner like this, watching their reactions and listening to their cries. Of course, he’ll also let them return the favor, tying him up and teasing his senses with ice cubes and hot wax. He’ll hold in his reactions for as long as possible, and it’s hard to break him, but if they know where to target, they’ll have him begging soon enough. The span of his back, as well as his thighs are extra sensitive and dripping wax across his spine while sliding some ice over his inner thighs will leave him desperate and begging in no time.

Unsurprisingly, the Avatar of Pride has a huge praise kink. Lucifer craves praise from his partner, enjoying the feeling of pride coursing through his body when his partner tells him how good he feels and how well behaved he is. He strives to please them as much as he can, and the validation that he’s a good boy sends pleasure coursing through him. Of course, Lucifer also gets pleasure out of giving his partner praise, too, when he’s the one in charge. He wants them to know how proud he is of them when they’re being good.

On the opposite hand, Lucifer gets a weird amount of pleasure out of being humiliated. He isn’t fond of humiliating his S/O, being humiliated? Having a mere human exert that much power over him? It excites him to no end and he can’t explain why. If they treat him like he’s a lesser being, spit in his mouth, step on his cock, anything like that, Lucifer finds himself cumming so embarrassingly quick. He has to be in a specific headspace to enjoy it, but when he is, having his pride crushed in such a way feels like such a thrill.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Lucifer is a very private man and refuses to risk being caught in the act. The riskiest he’ll get is his office, but more often than not, it’s going to take place in his room. He prefers to take his time with his partner anyway, and that's much easier to accomplish on a comfortable bed, rather than somewhere else. He has more than enough self control to avoid doing anything too sensual outside of his room, where he feels safe.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

He’ll never admit it, but seeing his s/o acting bold or taking charge never fails to excite him. It makes his mind wander and Lucifer can’t help but imagine them acting that way towards him, disregarding his rank and power and taking control of him. He’s almost ashamed of having such fantasies, but that just serves to excite him further.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Exhibitionism of any level is a big no for Lucifer. He has a hard enough time showing regular affection in public, and anything even remotely sexual in nature crosses his limits. He considers what he shares with his partner to be very personal and vulnerable and he refuses to have anyone else see him in such a state. He’s also not fond of anyone having a chance to see his partner in a disheveled state. In his mind, their body and reactions are for his eyes only. No one else even comes close to deserving to see them like that.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Lucifer very much prefers giving oral over receiving, and he’s damn good at it, too. He loves the amount of power it gives him, allowing him to control exactly how much pleasure he’s giving his partner. He knows exactly how to use his mouth to get specific responses from them. He’s also a quick learner and adapts to his partner’s preferences very fast.

While Lucifer doesn’t hate being on the receiving end, it takes some time for him to be open to the idea. Letting his partner have so much control over his pleasure leaves him feeling vulnerable and he has a harder time controlling his reactions. It takes every ounce of control he has not to grab the back of their head and set the pace himself, but he finds that it’s more worth it in the end to give them complete control.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Lucifer’s pace heavily depends on the mood of the night. If both he and his partner are stressed and need some relief, he’s more than happy to go hard and rough. He does enjoy taking his time, though, and if his schedule allows it, he’d much rather keep things sensual and slow. Intimacy is a very important part of sex for him, and a fast pace feels like it brings things to an end too quickly for him to fully enjoy it all the time, but he still likes the roughness of it. Regardless of who’s in control of the pace, he enjoys it best when there’s a healthy balance, starting out hard and fast, before gradually slowing down and letting some romance seep in, only to speed up once again as he and his partner get close to finishing.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Lucifer is a very busy demon, meaning that sometimes all he has time for is a quickie, but that doesn’t mean he likes them. When he’s with his partner, he wants to be able to take his time with them, keep a slow and sensual pace, but he often can’t find the time for it. He always thinks a quickie would be better than nothing, but they often just leave him feeling even more pent up and desperate.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Lucifer isn’t the most open person when it comes to experimentation. Mostly because he’s already had experience with many kinks throughout his long life, and he feels that he’s got a very good idea of what he’s into. There are very few things his partner could suggest that he either isn’t completely against or that he hasn’t already tried. If they do manage to find something that he’s unsure of yet, he’s more than happy to try it out for them, as long as it’s in a controlled environment. His partner has a much higher chance of getting him to experience something new if he’s the submissive one for the night. Chances are he’ll end up enjoying it, even if he was a bit unsure at first. He thrives off of pleasing his s/o and they’ll quickly find that he has very few limits.

Lucifer is very fond of everything being safe and controlled, regardless of who is in charge for the night. He outright refuses to do anything he’d consider obscene anywhere that someone else could walk into. He wants anything that happens to stay between him and his partner, and his not a fan of risking that in any way.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Lucifer has quite a lot of stamina, when he's not exhausted and overworked, at least. He's not exaggerating when he says he'll keep his partner busy all night long. He can take a few more rounds than the average human, but they last for ages. He's skilled at holding off his own orgasms, capable of making his partner cum on his cock a couple times at least, before finally letting go himself. He uses this to his advantage often, wanting to make sure he completely satisfies them before reaching his own peak.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Lucifer has a rather impressive collection of toys, or perhaps tools would be more accurate. He doesn't own anything like dildos or vibrators, but he has everything from different styles of restraints, to paddles, to whips. He has no qualms using some of the… less extreme tools in his collection on his partner, and he's not opposed to adding some more commonly seen sex toys to the mix, as well. If they show interest, he's more than happy to switch roles and lend them his tools, but he greatly prefers the feel of his partner's body, rather than a plastic toy.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Lucifer is a huge fan of teasing his partner, but he’s very easily swayed by begging. He could genuinely spend hours teasing them and finding new ways to make them react, but as soon as they beg him for more, he loses all semblance of patience and control. Hearing his partner beg feeds straight into his pride, and he’s always weak when it comes to their wants and needs.

Lucifer himself is rather fun to tease as well. It may not be his favorite thing, but he enjoys it from time to time. It takes a lot of practice and patience to actually break him, though, but it’s more than worth it in the end. What’s better than seeing the Avatar of Pride crying and groveling, pleading for his partner to let him cum?

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Lucifer purposefully keeps himself quiet, doing his best to avoid making any sort of embarrassing noises. It works pretty well for him at first, the most that’s coming out of his mouth being soft gasps or groans from behind his clenched teeth, but the closer he gets, the less controlled his voice becomes, letting sweet, delicate moans slip out. He’s still not the type of person to be extra loud or talkative, but it’s not uncommon to hear soft words of praise in between the whiny noises he can’t seem to silence anymore.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Despite the sadistic and domineering persona he puts on, most of the time, Lucifer actually prefers to be the submissive one. He spends every waking moment of his life feeling like he needs to be in control and trying to take care of everything, that what he really craves is to just lay back and have someone else take the reins. It takes a huge amount of trust for Lucifer to admit this, but once he does, he’s willing to let his partner do whatever they want to him.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Lucifer's dick is an impressive sight, but isn't too intimidating. He has a lot of length, more than the average human, and just enough girth to provide a stretch, without requiring extensive prepping. His skin flushes easily, making his a cock a pretty pink colour when he's hard. The thing that stands out the most, though, is that he has piercings down there. There's three to be exact, all lined up on the underside of his cock, forming a Jacob's ladder. They match the nipple piercings that he also keeps hidden under his clothes.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Lucifer’s sex drive is pretty high compared to the average human, but it really isn’t very high for a demon. He’s always so pent up, however, that you’d never be able to tell that. He’s always busy, and when he does have time to spend with his S/O, he wants to do something romantic with them first, constantly pushing aside his need in favor of something else. By the time he’s finally alone and in the mood with them, he's so desperate and sensitive that he comes across as constantly horny, when he’s actually just denying himself until he can’t handle it anymore.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Lucifer has a horrible sleep schedule and struggles to get some rest even when he’s tired. The chances of him falling asleep before his partner are extremely low, even if they wore him out. Even if he doesn’t have any work he feels pressured to finish, chances are that once he finishes taking care of his partner, he’s still going to stay up. He’ll stay in bed if they ask him to, but he’ll find something to read or put on some soft music to keep him busy for a few hours, until he finally feels like he can rest.

[jackrrabbit]

Adversary /// Overhaul x f!Reader (18+)

Summary: You make a deal with the devil to save your life, but it turns out Overhaul’s not interested in your soul.

A/N: Remember when I said I was going to do a fantasy collab and then dipped for like 9 months? Hahaha…anyway…

@pleasantanathema @ present-mel @shadowworks—if it’s not too late, here’s my part for the Pleasant & Strider Fantasy AU Writing Collab from a million years ago. Go check out the masterlist and gorge yourself on these amazing pieces!!

Tags/Warnings: dubcon, demon fuckery & occult things, big heresy/sacrilege/perversion of religion, sex in a church ft. Catholic sex guilt, other than that it’s not that bad lol, inexperienced reader, mild degradation, shameless camp and demon-fucking clichés, Overhaul calls you “little girl” 👉👈

He doesn’t look like a demon.

Not that you really know what demons are supposed to look like. But…red skin, right? Fangs and claws and swirling masses of bad energy. Maybe cloven hooves for feet. Yes, that’s the Disney version—but even if you didn’t expect a cartoon personification of evil, you didn’t expect this.

He looks like a doctor, you think. Lab coat hanging open, surgery mask pushed down under his jaw, stethoscope draped over his shoulders. No, he’s a little young to really look like a doctor…an intern, you amend, shifting back in your hospital bed. He looks like he fits right in here, not a hair out of place. Except for, you know, the polished black horns curling out of the sides of his skull.

Overhaul. It was written in the book. That’s the only thing you have to call him in your head.

He’s standing in the center of the sigil you drew at the foot of your bed before midnight, surveying the room critically without meeting your gaze. He looks annoyed—that’s not a good sign, is it?—but then again, of course he’s annoyed. You’d be annoyed too if you got summoned out of your cozy hell dimension in the middle of the night. According to the book, you’re lucky he even showed up…although ‘lucky’ isn’t really how you’d describe yourself most days.

“So,” Overhaul says after a long moment of silence in which you question every choice you’ve made in your relatively short life. “You’re dying.”

You nod.

“And you don’t want to be.”

You nod again, wondering if you’re supposed to be contributing more to this conversation. It’s a bit difficult when your mouth is so dry it feels like you’ve been eating dirt, but you suppose being in the presence of an unholy servant of Satan will do that to a person.

“Fine.” He sighs, frowns, and then finally lowers his gaze onto yours—and you shiver.

Those eyes. No human has eyes like that.

“Make me an offer,” Overhaul tells you, and through his open mouth you catch a flash of sharp white teeth.

Okay. Okay. The chirping of the heart monitor speeds up (as if it weren’t obvious enough that you’re terrified) and you fold your knees up to your chest and fidget with your ring and think. He’s giving you a chance to establish parameters. You’re supposed to start with his end of the deal, the thing you want from him. That’s what it said to do in the grimoire, aka the 19th century demonology volume your creepy cousin brought back from her pagan anthropology research trip in rural France. The one you keep hidden under your bed because your mother would burn it if she knew you were reading about summoning demons.

Offer nothing to a hell creature without first telling him your price. You know the words by heart, both the winding calligraphy of the original French from the grimoire and the rushed scrawl of the English translation your cousin left for you in sheets of lined paper layered between the pages of the book for you to read. Really, this is her fault. She was the one who slipped you the book, who told you that it worked, who snuck you the ingredients for the summoning. She was the one who left a bookmark at the chapter on this particular demon, one that specializes in ‘Contrat pour Remédier au Déséquilibre des Quatre Humeurs’, which she said meant a contract to cure any illness. Even his ‘name’ is translated in her hand, practically an afterthought in the margins of the page.

‘Le Malin qui Ravage et Rebâtit’— Overhaul?

You looked up the literal meaning of this phrase on your own. It did not reassure you.

“Girl.” His voice is cold, irate. Your eyes snap back up to his and it feels like that burning gaze is laser-beaming into your skull. “Do not test me. My time is limited…as is yours.”

You swallow. “How long do I have left?”

“Less than a single human year,” he tells you without a trace of sympathy. “Seven months, twelve days, three hours. Or so. You’ll be too exhausted to leave this bed in four months, and the pain will become intolerable in six… By the end, you’ll wish—“

“Stop,” you breathe out. The heart monitor is beeping wildly and you squeeze your knees into your chest, trying to calm down your breathing. “Stop, I—I want to live.”

“Of course you do.” Overhaul’s lip curls. “How very predictable.”

Be specific, you remind yourself, doing your best to ignore the stifling disapproval from the man—the demon—in front of you. Something about him (maybe how clean-cut he looks, maybe the indisputable authority in his demeanor) makes you want to impress him. But you didn’t turn your back on your religion—you didn’t draw pagan symbols on the floor in chalk, fill silver cups with various questionable substances (including your own virgin blood), and turn the crucifix your mother hung over your bed upside-down so you could let a demon make you feel guilty for wanting to survive. “I want to be cured. I’m okay with whatever natural death I have instead when I’m older, I just don’t want to die of this illness. I want you to make me healthy.”

“Simple enough. What else?”

‘Simple’? Your heart surges with something you’ve felt very little of since your initial diagnosis—hope. “T-That’s it. Just the cure.”

Overhaul glares at you. “Humans… Every vice in the world available to you, and you limit yourselves to the basest priority of survival.”

“But you can do it? You can cure me?” you persist.

Overhaul steps forward (quiet, so quiet you wonder if he really moved) and holds a hand out to you past the foot of your bed—you hesitate, and a second later you can see the muscles in his hand flex, stretching the latex of his plastic gloves tight over his knuckles.

Just do it. You give him your hand. Carefully. Like you’re scared the contact will burn you. It doesn’t (although his skin feels warmer than yours), but after a moment his grip tightens, sliding down past your hand to circle the fragile bones of your wrist and squeeze.

“Ow?” You wince.

The demon’s eyes flicker closed for a second, lips moving silently like he’s talking to himself—and then he drops your hand unceremoniously back onto your lap. “You could be cured before the sun rises this morning. I doubt your stay in the hospital will extend past the end of the week.”

He sounds bored, voice as flat and passionless as it was earlier, but your heart is soaring. Cured. You’ve lived with this illness for so many years, you can’t remember the last time someone told you you could be cured. And getting out of the hospital that soon? You can just imagine taking down all the decorations from the walls of your room here and setting them up in your old bedroom at home. You could see friends on the weekend and not take an oxygen bag, you could get a job or—or apply to college, you could have a life—

“That is…assuming you have something to offer me in exchange for the cure.”

Your stomach drops. You’d almost forgotten about the other half of the deal.

“Don’t tell me I came all this way for nothing.” Overhaul steps back, and the orange light of the candles you set sends strange shadows over his arrogant face. The fires look brighter now, and you find yourself tracing the lines of those shining black horns. In an odd way, they look natural—so organically framing his temples that you can’t imagine him without them.

“N-No, of course not. I have some money—I mean, my mom has some, and I can get it for you…” Which is half the truth. If you know anything, it’s that your mother’s spent most of her savings on your treatment and care. You probably have more debt than you have money in the bank right now—you’d try to get rid of that, too, if you hadn’t read in the book how important it is to keep your request as simple and straightforward as possible.

…Although it’s apparently not enough. Overhaul’s eyes narrow, molten gold irises carved into slits. “Even if I had a use for human money, do you really believe your life is worth so little?”

“No—no,” you say quickly. “I just thought—in case you were interested—”

The air crackles with energy, the candle flames spark bright blood-red, and the hair on your arms stands straight up. “I am not.”

“Okay! I get it.” You wave your hands back and forth, pulling your IV line from side to side with the motion. The book was very clear about staying calm and rational while you work out the terms of the deal, but that’s easier said than done when you have a real live (live?) hell creature in front of you. You always knew this was going to be the hard part—all the stories say there’s only one thing that a demon would be interested in, and no matter how inviting the prospect of living past this illness is, you know you’d rather die than sell your immortal soul to the devil. “I’ll give you anything except my soul! And—and don’t hurt anyone I care about, or— just don’t hurt anyone, okay? Other than that, if there’s anything I can give you, I will.”

Overhaul’s lip curls, baring a thin strip of those unnaturally sharp canines. “And is your soul really so valuable?”

This throws you for a loop. Isn’t that the standard deal? A soul for a wish? That’s how it’s supposed to work—at least in this twisted version of reality where you can summon a demon to perform unholy miracles for you. But if you think about it, it doesn’t really make sense, does it? Why would your soul be valuable to him? You can’t form an argument, especially since you’re not willing to barter it away in the first place.

Your mouth is pursed open as you search for a response, but Overhaul doesn’t seem willing to wait. A gloved hand wraps its way around the railing at the side of your bed, and he leans in closer. “Little girl…what makes you think you possess anything I desire?”

Little girl. You’re not a little girl, you’re a grown woman—and yet there’s no untruth in the statement. In front of him you feel insignificant, immature, weak. You have nothing real to offer, and something tells you that you’re not going to get rid of the demon you summoned without a sacrifice you’re not willing to make.

You twist your ring around your finger—the nervous habit you haven’t bothered to break because you’ve always had more important things to worry about—and the glint of silver in the candlelight must catch Overhaul’s eye because before you even notice him moving, your delicate hand is trapped in his larger one to give him a better view of the tiny piece of jewelry. “What is this?”

“It’s—um, a ring. A purity ring.” Has he never seen one before? Well…actually, that makes sense.

Overhaul turns your hand over in his without touching the band of silver. He’s looking at it closely, inspecting the lovingly engraved cross in the design and the inscription on the other side. “Matthew 5:8,” he reads out.

“…Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God,” you recite cautiously. It feels wrong to speak the words in front of him, but somehow you can’t help yourself.

Overhaul’s hand doesn’t leave yours. “This ring is important to you.”

“It’s a symbol of a—a promise I made to God. To save myself for my future husband.”

“To ‘save yourself’? To save what?”

You can’t believe you’re explaining this to a literal demon. You close your eyes and inhale slowly and taste smoke. “My…virginity. It’s a promise that I won’t have sex until I enter into a biblical marriage.”

At this, Overhaul is quiet. You give him a moment to answer, half expecting him to question why you think God cares about your sexual status (honestly, you’d be lying if you said you haven’t wondered this yourself), but he stays quiet until you peek up at him to try and gauge the look on his coldly handsome face.

He’s still staring at the ring. He hasn’t touched it—maybe he can’t, because of the cross?—and through the latex, his skin feels hotter than a human’s is supposed to be.

“Is there…” you start, but you trail off when you realize you have nothing to ask. You give a little tug to try and take your hand away and you’re surprised when your wrist actually slides out of his grip to fall back on the nest of sheets in your lap. You didn’t think he’d let you go so easily.

Overhaul turns his head to the side, eyes drilling into you so you feel like you should lower your gaze. The candlelight flickers in strange shadows over his horns. “This will do,” he says quietly.

“What?”

“In exchange for your cure.” The demon taps his own left ring finger, the place where the purity ring sits on your hand, and your heart soars. He actually wants that? It’s just a simple silver band, not worth much, but you’re not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Maybe it has some special significance because of the religious connotation. Your mother will be angry you’ve lost it, but you’re happy to cope with that if it means living to actually get married!

“Yes!” you blurt out before he has a chance to rethink his offer. Sure, you’ll miss the purity ring—you’ve had it since you were a kid, after all—but there’s no question you’re getting the better end of this deal. At least in your opinion.

Something flashes through his yellow eyes, something you don’t even want to try and identify. “The contract, then.”

You barely have time to notice that his voice has gentled, that it’s practically silken in comparison to before, when the candlelight flickers again and suddenly the contract is everywhere. Everywhere. Writing appears on every surface in the room, covering the walls, stretching over the ceiling, coiling around the sides of the hospital equipment and decorating your bedsheets until you and Overhaul are the only untouched surfaces in sight. The characters are inscribed in red, dark red like—don’t think about that, you tell yourself squeamishly. You can make out some of the letters, even a word here or there—French, you recognize, mixed with what looks like Latin and interspersed with what you can only guess are runes.

“I can’t read this,” you tell him, fidgeting with your ring for what you now realize will be the last time.

“I only need your name,” he purrs, and then you feel a fragile weight in your hand: a feather, pearl-black and glossy and too large to belong to any bird you can think of, its angled tip glistening with wet ink. There’s an empty space in the writing before you, and Overhaul’s gloved hand comes to yours again to guide you into place.

This feels wrong…then again, of course it does. Even if you’re getting off relatively easy and just losing your ring rather than your soul, you’re still making a deal with a demon. You sign your name, forcing yourself to think about the future you have ahead of you rather than a disapproving white-bearded caricature of The Man Upstairs wagging his finger at you for haggling with a literal servant of Satan. People have done worse things to survive, haven’t they? It’s just a ring.

You set the feather down and Overhaul sighs, thick black eyelashes obscuring his intense gaze for a moment—and then the contract is gone, leaving your hospital room as blank and sterile as it’s supposed to be (well, aside from the candles and all the other ritual stuff you threw together to summon a demon in the first place).

“Are you going to cure—heal me now?” you ask.

“…Patience, little girl.” He’s pulling his glove off, peeling it down his fingers to bare the pale skin of his hand. You catch your breath and wonder what this is going to feel like, and then the tips of his fingers meet your cheek and—

you stop breathing.

It doesn’t hurt.

Or if it does, you don’t remember the pain a second later when breath floods back into your lungs. What you do feel is energy. Strength in your muscles, blood pumping through your veins, every inhale and exhale as light as a bird and freer. You feel healthy. You’re surprised you even remember what health feels like but you do: it’s like you’ve only been half alive, and now life is surging into you and through you and around you, bubbling up in your core like a spring overflowing. You blink rapidly, thinking you might cry from the sheer pleasure of it, but when you open your mouth it’s laughter that comes out. You’re healthy. You’re alive. You barely notice the IV line literally falling off of your skin because the hole where it entered your vein is sealed shut and healed perfectly.

No more needles. No more hospitals. Even without all the monitors beeping out your heart rate and measuring your vitals, there’s not a shred of doubt in your mind that you’re cured.

“Thank you!” you laugh, looking up at Overhaul and for the first time, not caring that he’s evil incarnate. “I feel—I’m okay! It worked!”

“Of course it did.” His expression is inscrutable, but he lets you have a few moments to enjoy your newfound health.

You roll your shoulders back, flex each muscle you can isolate one by one to test, make fists with your fingers and then run them over your hair, which is already thicker and shinier than it was a moment ago. Your body thrums with energy—you want to run, to feel the ground against your bare feet and the cold night air on your face, and you think you could do it! Your legs are already swinging over the side of your cot, ready to run barefoot out of the hospital if that’s what it takes, but before you can stand up Overhaul’s pushing you back down onto the bed.

“Have you forgotten your end of the bargain already?”

Honestly you did forget, but only for a second, only because you were so excited to just be outside again. “Oh, yeah. Of course.” Your hand goes to your left ring finger, ready to slip the ring off and hand it over, but Overhaul shakes his head.

“Not here.”

“What—?”

You’re falling. Your hospital room is disappearing, the image of your walls and your window and your bed disintegrating into yawning black, and you’re falling through it into nothing, into emptiness, and Overhaul’s still-bare hand in yours is the only anchor you have so you clutch onto it and squeeze your eyes shut. You want to scream—that’s the sane thing to do when you’re falling through miles and miles of empty space, right?—but when you open your throat the sound is swallowed up just like the light was…

Overhaul’s hand burns into yours, an improbable lifeline that you pull closer more out of terror than conscious thought. The slick, empty air rushes around you and you think I am going to die like this and then, incredibly, as soon as you’ve accepted your imminent demise, you feel your back mold onto a chilled, flat surface, vertebra by vertebra up to the back of your head, as if you’ve been lain down onto it.

Your heart thuds in your ears and you brace for an impact because your body hasn’t quite accepted yet that it’s not falling anymore—but at the same time, you know you’re lying down on something. You pry your fingers away from their vice-grip on Overhaul’s arm and feel around blindly for what’s underneath you, and when it seems reasonably tangible you let yourself open your eyes.

Way above, vaulted dozens of feet over your head, is a ceiling studded with gilt-edged frescoes and stained glass. It’s raining (even though it wasn’t in the hospital, you think) but through the massive panes of colored glass there’s enough oily blue light to make out that you’re in a church.

You’re in a church, with a demon. Isn’t that against the rules?

You sit up stiffly and look over at Overhaul, who’s standing at your side and looking down at you…which is how you realize the soft, cold surface you’ve been deposited onto is the blanket on top of the altar in the sanctuary. “Where...did you take me?”

“You should know this place.”

And you do, when you look around. It’s empty now and you’ve never been here at night, but this is a church your mother would bring you to when you were little, back before the disease got so bad you couldn’t risk traveling to it anymore. This is where you took your purity vow…the ring feels heavy on your hand. “Why—why—“

“I can’t stand human hospitals. Filthy places… How that reek of illness and death doesn’t bother your kind, I’ll never understand.” Overhaul pulls his latex glove back on. He’s dressed differently now, no longer impersonating a doctor—black shirt, black pants, and a…bird mask in red leather and gold. So are you, as a matter of fact. Instead of your hospital gown, you’re in a gauzy white dress that’s already been pushed up to pool around the tops of your thighs.

The slip is too thin for the cold, and you can feel your nipples standing up under the cloth so you fold your arms over your chest and hug yourself. “Why did you take me here?” The sound of your voice echoes off the walls eerily and you wish you hadn’t spoken so loudly. The reflection of your words sounds girlish, nervous.

“I told you. Your side of our contract.” Even in this dark, the angular features of his face are clearly concentrating—on you. “Are you already having second thoughts? Such a fickle little thing…”

“You mean the ring?” You reach for it again, ready to tear it off and throw it at him if that’s what it takes to see your deal through, but Overhaul snatches your hand away, pinning it above you.

“Not the ring,” he says. “The promise.”

The…promise?

A chill makes its way down your spine despite the heat radiating off the demon’s body and onto yours. “I don’t understand.”

“The promise,” Overhaul repeats—and you hear a sound almost like wings flapping and then he’s on the altar with you, knees straddling your hips as a single hand holds both your wrists above your head. “To remain a virgin until marriage. Your promise to God.”

A streak of lightning cracks down on the other side of the stained glass window behind the altar, illuminating the room briefly in spectacular pits of red and orange and yellow…and then it’s dark again, and the only color you can make out is the gold in Overhaul’s eyes.

“I’m going to break it,” he murmurs, lowering his head toward your ear right as the answering thunder rolls through the sanctuary, up through the altar, up into you.

///

Méfiez-vous de son piège, the grimoire said. Beware of the catch.

Of course it wasn’t just a ring.

Overhaul’s fingers are in—inside you, his middle and ring finger pumping through the length of your cunt like they belong there, like you were made to be touched this way. A mixture of your juices and your own spit cling to the latex because he made you suck his fingers before he put them in you and he hasn’t bothered to take his gloves off—not that you asked. You’ve been too busy biting your lip to try and muffle the moans that he keeps forcing out of you. He’s bracing himself on top of you with one hand and fingering you with the other, so your own hands are free to push into your eyes and hide your face…until he yanks your arm back and stops.

“Look at me.”

Your eyes are screwed shut and you shake your head back and forth, the movement shuddering your whole body right down to your pussy wrapped around Overhaul’s fingers. He slows the movement and kneels back, pushing one of your thighs up into your chest as he does it.

“Look at me.”

And you’re not sure whether it’s some unearthly power he has over you or the plain old deterioration of your willpower, but you can’t refuse him. You crack your eyes open and he’s glaring down at you, skin pale as ice in the blue light. Once he’s satisfied that you’re watching, the demon leans back in to fuck your cunt with his fingers, slowly at first and then quicker when he hits something inside of you—a spot, a place on the inner wall of your pussy that makes you feel like you’ve been shocked— heat blooms through you like blood in water and you gasp and he curls his fingers up to pet over that spot again.

“Wait—wait, that’s—it feels—weird!” You’ve never felt like this before. You’re not supposed to feel like this, it’s wrong.

“I understand you’ve never touched yourself, but don’t pretend you don’t like it.” Overhaul says, voice as indifferent and calm as ever even though your cunt is dripping clear sticky liquid over the plastic of his glove.

He pushes back in and grinds his palm over the little button on the top of your pussy—your clit?—and you want to scream. “No, I—I don’t—nnhh...”

Do you like it? The demon’s body is so hot next to yours, like he’s running a fever except you’re the one going out of your mind… You’ve heard metaphors for sexual pleasure before (that it’s like having something to drink when you’re dying of thirst; or that it’s the ultimate act of intimacy, love in physical form) but all of that’s a fucking lie. There’s nothing to compare it to, no reference that makes sense, because it doesn’t make sense—you don’t even want him to keep going, do you? You’re only doing this because you signed your name on a devil’s contract, because you don’t want to die and there’s no alternative…but that doesn’t explain why you feel so warm from the inside out, why you’re squirming and your hips are rocking involuntarily no matter how much you try to keep still. This isn’t right. You feel like you’ve been lied to.

A good girl wouldn’t like this.

Overhaul isn’t going to let you close your eyes, so you don’t—but the sounds coming out of your mouth are so…indecent (and how can you think these things about yourself? the word feels like someone else is saying it when you hear it in your head) that your hand is drifting up to your mouth before you can stop yourself, trying to stifle all of it…

“Let your voice out. I want you to hear yourself moan.”

Long fingers slide their way out of your pussy and then move up to rub quick little circles around your clit and you moan, like a whore, like a girl getting her cunt rubbed by a demon— “Oh, uhhhn—something, it’s—coming—“ There’s something building up in your core—a peak, a climax, something that makes you fist your hands in the nightgown he put you in (so tight you’re surprised the thin fabric hasn’t torn) and tilt your hips up into him, begging without words because you don’t have any to express what your body is asking for…

But he doesn’t give it to you. Overhaul takes his hand away from your pussy and the shock of the cool air after his too-hot touch is almost enough to send you over that edge—almost. Not quite. And without it, you’re left shivering and quaking, thighs twitching as your baser instincts beg you to just put your hand between your legs for once and hump your fingers to completion if the demon won’t do it.

You’re not going to risk that, though. Not when Overhaul’s dragging your body closer, bunching up the blanket on the altar under your spine, so your pelvis is angled to his… He’s already shirtless and you hear him unzipping his pants but you can’t bring yourself to actually look at him, even when you feel something hard and hot nudging up against your inner thigh and then aligning to your sticky wet slit.

“This will hurt a bit, but I want you to look,” he says, and you don’t even understand at first until you make yourself feel it—his cock, pushing up against your tight cunt to finish this, this perversion of what your first time was supposed to be…

And what was it supposed to be? Roses and candles and soft kisses? A nameless, faceless husband unzipping your wedding dress and making love to you with the lights off? The way the demon touches you should be cruel in comparison but it isn’t, it’s lighting fires under your skin and turning your brains to mush, so how is your body supposed to tell the difference?

It’ll hurt, you know that, you’ve heard enough about sex to know that it always hurts the first time for girls…women. It was already a stretch to fit his fingers in your virgin pussy, so of course his cock is going to hurt. You turn your head toward the window at your side and try on look out at the rain drawing rivulets like veins over the glass, something to focus on instead of him.

“I said look,” the demon hisses, and his hips push forward a bit and you bite off a whimper of pain. “Watch me take your virginity…look at your tight little cunt swallowing me up just like it was made to.”

“N-No—“ you whine, even though it’s not like you can ignore it. “Don’t make me, don’t make me look, I can’t—“

“Then look at me.”

It’s what he wants, some kind of wicked satisfaction he gets off on, but you’re lucky enough to even get an option so you choose that one, shifting your gaze up into his face instead of the place where his cock is pressing deeper and deeper inside you. Overhaul’s eyes are half-lidded and it’s hard to tell from behind the mask but the look on his face is…pleasure? No, that would be too human. Restraint, at least. He could just thrust up into your body in one stroke, but he wants you to feel it for some reason.

Maybe because it’s a worse betrayal of your chastity if you want to get fucked.

Lucky for you, though, you can barely feel anything aside from the pain. The heat you felt building earlier is draining out of you even as Overhaul tilts deeper, layering his chest over yours. You’re almost grateful for the modest barrier the dress provides between your torso and the solid muscle of his abdomen. His cock in your pussy feels like it’s too big too deep too much and it’s the first time you’ve felt like your body wasn’t created specifically for this purpose so you hold it tight.

“Does it hurt?”

A second of clarity makes you want to snarl (of course it fucking hurts, I’m losing my virginity to a demon I summoned from hell) and you dig your fingernails into your palms to stop yourself from saying it out loud. Overhaul pulls out a fraction of an inch and then pushes back in and you feel like the breath’s being pushed out of your lungs. “Yes! Yes, it—it hurts—“

“I can make you enjoy it…for a price,” he sighs, settling into a slow rocking motion of his hips pushing into yours.

And you want to, every sore muscle in your cunt is telling you to give in and give up, give him what he wants so you can enjoy it like he says—but you’d rather hate every second of this than make another deal. You shake your head quickly and because you’re still too afraid to look away from him, you don’t miss the look of surprise that flits across his face before he tamps it down. “I don’t—I don’t want to—like it,” you gasp out between thrusts. “It’s better if—if it h-hurts…”

This time it’s obvious—his eyes really do widen, and you feel some petty triumph at having caught him off guard like this. Who’s predictable now? you think—and then he’s lifting one hand off the altar at the side of your head and tugging his glove off with his teeth, and you don’t even have time to be afraid of what he’s going to do to you because it’s too late, his bare fingers are already stroking over your mound and onto your core, massaging into the flesh of your stomach so he can feel his own cock sliding in and out of you—

and it doesn’t hurt anymore?

You only have a second to try and understand—he cured you, he healed the pain from your first time just like he healed your illness?—before he hooks his grip under your thigh and folds your legs into your chest so he can fuck into you harder than before. His cock slaps into your pussy and you can hear it, hear how wet your filthy little cunt is, smeared through with your juices. It’s sick—the sound of skin against skin, and the moaning you can’t hold back, you sound like a woman in a porno and you wish the pain would come back just so you could keep hating what he’s doing to you. “What—what did you do—“

The demon ignores you. “It feels good, doesn’t it.”

“Nn—“ It’s deeper like this…deeper and rougher and you can feel it. Now that the pain’s been reduced to the dull ache of a stretched muscle, you can feel everything—his cock sliding against that same spot in your cunt that makes you want to squeal, the friction of his body moving against your clit, all of it, everything you wanted to block out— he pumps into you and you hear your breath sobbing out a moan a second out of rhythm, the sounds of you bouncing on demon cock echoing over the walls. “Please—ah, ahhh…”

“‘Please?’ Are you begging—me, little girl?” Overhaul pushes your thigh up and drags his cock through you, excruciatingly slow, forcing you to feel the thick head slide over every gummy wall in your slick pussy.

You shake your head, mewl, try to force your hips to stop rocking back into his and grinding your clit against him. But you can’t. You’re a—you were a virgin, for fuck’s sake! Overhaul’s immortal. Probably thousands of years of experience on how to make you feel like you want this, like you’re only alive in the places he touches you… You’re at his mercy, if he has any. You never stood a chance.

“Then are you begging your god?” His body lowers directly onto yours and like you’re being controlled by puppet strings your arms fold around him and rake your fingernails uselessly into the smooth skin of his back. You can feel the vibration of his mirthless laughter through his chest. “It must hurt terribly…to know he isn’t listening.”

“Don’t—stop, please,” you sob. “Don’t say—don’t stop—please!”

“Listen to yourself, girl—“ Overhaul’s breath is faster now, but you don’t have time to question it because you feel your peak coming again, the tension rising up through your cunt and your abdomen, harsher and crueler than when his fingers were in you but you want it just as much. More. “Has he ever answered your prayers? Has he...ahh, fuck—who’s the one giving you what you need?”

“No— please, please just let me let me, please—“ You’re talking nonsense now, begging for the release—at least then it’ll be over, and you need it, you need it so badly you feel your muscles locking up, cramping, your ankles crossing each other behind Overhaul’s back.

“Good girl,” the demon breathes, and then he lifts off you so he’s kneeling upright with the two of you still connected, his thick, heavy cock still speared in your pussy, and his fingers come down again to rub at your clit. Everything’s so wet you can hear the motion of his fingers slicking themselves through your juices, sliding up and down the little button over and over and it feels so good that a tiny part of you almost wants to drag it out, to savor it, but the rest of your body is going to die, is going to go crazy if the demon doesn’t let you cum right now, right now, right now!

And he does. Praise the Lord. The pads of Overhaul’s fingers pass over your clit one last time and your head rolls back, your throat moves but you can’t even make a sound, your legs shake and you cum.

You didn’t know it was like this.

Your cunt squeezes down on his cock, throbbing and pulsing and your toes literally curl (you didn’t think that was a real thing!) and your vision goes black for a moment and—oh fuck oh fuck i want this i want more how is it possible that i’ve never felt like this—you understand, more intimately than ever, why sex is wrong:

because nothing that makes you feel this good could possibly come without a cost, could it?

///

It must take longer than you thought for you to come back to your senses, because when you regain awareness of your body you’re in your hospital bed. You’re clean, too, and you wonder for a second if Overhaul bothered to clean you up? Or no…he probably just snapped his fingers and transported you back to your room. You’re not really sure how it works.

What you are sure of, however, is that you just got fucked by a demon. You’re sore in places that you didn’t know it was possible to be sore, and there are already bruises forming on the flesh of your thighs from how tight he was holding you. You don’t really have time to inspect these, though, because apparently your…ordeal (if you can call it that) isn’t over.

Overhaul’s still here.

He’s facing the hints of sunrise through the east window, dressed again in the immaculate lab coat and surgeon’s mask. “You’re awake,” he says without looking at you.

You nod hesitantly. You’re not really sure what the protocol is in this situation, but at least you’ve finally held up your side of the contract, right? And so has he. Despite having been up all night doing sinful things, you’re still itching to get out of this bed and test the limits of your healthy body. “You’re…going to leave, right?”

“Yes—”

At that, you sigh in relief and settle back into your starched bedsheets.

“But there’s one more thing you owe me.”

“Goddamnit,” you swear for the very first time in your life. After what you just did, taking the Lord’s name in vain seems like a relatively minor sin.

Overhaul’s mildly irritated expression doesn’t change, but he holds his hand out to you, palm up, the way you imagine someone would if they were helping you out of a car or requesting a dance at an old-fashioned ball. And really, you want all of this to be over—you want to get out of this hospital, you want to taste what the air outside is like, you want to distract yourself from what you just gave up in exchange for a future. At this point you’re just going to have to hope God isn’t as picky about the whole premarital sex thing as you grew up believing.

So you put your hand in Overhaul’s.

Slowly, carefully, like he’s afraid it’ll burn him, he slides your purity ring down your finger and balances it in the palm of his bare hand. It sizzles when he touches it, glowing orange until it eventually burns down into a ash-black circle in the center of his palm. Once he’s satisfied that your pretty little ring has been reduced to nothing more than a scorch mark, he closes his hand around yours and you feel something sharp, painfully hot, etching onto your finger.

It’s over in a second, but you still yelp and yank your hand away from him as soon as he lets you. “Ah—ow, what was that?”

He burned you, he literally burned you! He’s already healed it, but there’s still a thin, pale scar, an intentional one left wrapping around the skin at the base of your left ring finger. Like a wedding ring.

When you look close, you can make out a symbol on the back of your finger where the cross used to sit—and even though your conscious mind doesn’t recognize it, the sight of it rings out something inside your ribcage, deeper and truer than flesh and blood. It’s the devil’s mark, you think. It’s his.

“…A promise,” Overhaul says softly, and even though it’s a chilly morning, you can feel the heat of his hands on yours a long time after he vanishes back into the dark.

[theneondemonx]

MY TYPE | JJK

One Shot

▽ summary: you’ve never liked fuckboys, especially one Jeon Jungkook. But when you find yourself late at night playing a game of seven minutes in heaven with your college friends, things take a different turn.

▽ genre: porn with very little plot, college au

▽ pairings: fuckboy|jk x fem!reader

▽ words: 2192

▽ warnings: implied alcohol use, jk jerked off to your insta pics (y/n living the dream), oral sex (m receiving, deep throating), unprotected sex, lots of cum, dirty talk, nipple play, jk has a big dick

A chorus of ooohs filled the messy living room in which you and your friends were sitting in circle. It was late and most of the party guests had already gone back home, leaving just a small bunch of you and a pile of garbage all over the house. You would have gladly leave the place way earlier if it wasn’t for your best friend Se-mi, who you promised to drive back home. She insisted in staying longer to hit on Min Yoongi, one of your fellow classmates from the same major, but the guy seemed to barely notice. He might even been interested in her for all you knew: there was no way of telling, since he was always so introverted. The only person he spoke to was his disaster of a friend, Jeon Jungkook, the campus playboy.

How do they even get along? They have literally nothing in common.

And you knew this, since you had been often paired with Yoongi for some group projects during the years. The guy was cool. He was really smart and funny when you actually got to know him. He just didn’t open up easily. That’s why, even though you’ve had the opportunity to chat with him several times, you couldn’t really say you two were friends.

But back to the ooohs. The reason behind that childish reaction was to trace in the empty bottle of beer who had just stop spinning, pointing at you and the infamous Jeon Jungkook, who was having the time of his life – judging from the mischievous grin on his face.

You weren’t blind, you knew he was hot as fuck, but he was way too aware of his good looks and terribly overconfident. He was known to have slept with most girls on campus, and you were pretty sure he was more dedicated to keep his record than to actually graduate. Which, for a good student like you, was infuriating.

You had always found him annoying and obnoxious. And on top of that, you couldn’t figure out how girls seemed to fall for his cheesy lines every single time, throwing themselves at him like he was the only guy with a dick.

Sure, you didn’t really knew the guy, but in your opinion there wasn’t much to know about him. He was a cliché. And you couldn’t help but roll your eyes every time he tried to hit on you. Because he did. Of course he did. You were just his favorite type of prey: one that was not easy to catch.

“Well, you know the rules, guys. The closet is right at the end of the corridor. You have to stay in there for seven minutes. If you get out earlier, you have to kiss in front of everybody for the remaining time. And if you don’t get out.. well.. good for you.”

“Don’t worry, Jimin. Seven minutes are more than enough.” You said with a sarcastic tone, giving him a fake smile while you got up and adjusted your skirt.

Jungkook scoffed, getting up and leaning closer to your ear to talk in a low voice, but loud enough for the others to hear.

“You must have had some pretty lame sex if you think so. Hope I’ll change your mind.”

“You’re disgusting.”

And that’s how you found yourself sharing the tightest possible space with a known fuckboy like Jeon Jungkook.

As soon as you entered the closet, you pushed your back against one of the walls, folding your arms to your chest to make him understand in every possible way that you weren’t going to give into any of his shenanigans. Stupid move, since your shirt was a bit low-cut and that only made your tits pop up even more, looking like a four course meal to the blatant gaze of Jungkook.

“No class to run to this time, mh?” he immediately uttered, giving you a malicious smile while leaning with his shoulder against the door frame.

“Unfortunately.”

He rolled his eyes, darkened even more by the dim light of the small space you were both trapped in.

“Oh come on, do you really want to turn this game into seven minutes in hell? You don’t necessarily have to be a mood killer.”

“I just don’t like you, Jungkook. I know you are not used to hear it, but that’s just how it is.”

Your comeback didn’t seem to affect him at all. If anything, he just made him chuckle and slightly shake his head.

Seriously? You are that full of yourself?

“Ok, so it’s another Y/L/N Y/N who liked my photo at the gym from three years ago and then changed her whole profile in a ridiculous attempt to hide it.”

Your eyes widened and your cheeks turned suddenly red. You got caught.

“It was a mistake.” You tried to explain yourself, knowing too well that there was nothing you could say to go back from that.

He raised his eyebrow, looking straight at you from underneath his eyelashes.

“You scrolled through all my Instagram profile by mistake?”

No you didn’t. You just got curious. That’s the kind of shit you did at three in the morning when you couldn’t sleep. You just find yourself looking for weird stuff on the internet and scrolling through profiles of people you barely knew for no apparent reason. It was just a bonus point the fact that Jungkook’s profile was full of pictures of his body sculped by the gods. Sure, you were annoyed by his attitude, but you were still a woman.

“And you did it so very late at night, if I might add.” He said, taking a step forward towards you. “What were you doing, Y/N? Looking for something interesting?”

You blushed so hard that you were pretty sure he could see the redness in your cheeks even despite the poor lighting in the closet. But you couldn’t help but stare at him in the eyes like a deer caught in headlights, unable to look away from his hypnotic gaze.

“I wasn’t.” You murmured, defensively.

“You don’t have to feel ashamed, you know? I was awake too – thank God, if I might add. I would have missed it otherwise. I would have found myself locked out of that mysterious profile, unable to look at your cute pictures.” He paused, leaning way too close to your face. “Don’t tell anyone, but I had some fun with those.”

Normally, you would have told him that he was sickening, but for some reason you felt a pleasant warmth irradiating in your belly. You couldn’t help but picture him jerking off to your photos, and it wasn’t sickening at all. If anything, it was weirdly enticing.

He rested his palm on the wall, right next to your face, and looked down at your body like he was ready to devour it in one bite.

“I recognized the skirt, you know?”

You didn’t remember wearing it in one of your pictures, but it was plausible: that skirt was one of your favorites. Cute and short, but not too revealing.

“Well, I hope you saved the picture, because that’s all you’re gonna get.”

This was your response, when you actually found the courage to talk. But your voice was so low and shaky that you found it hard yourself to believe your own words. Of course he didn’t fall for it.

“Are you sure?”

You bit your lip, nodding in a last ridiculous attempt to give yourself a standoffish look, which again he didn’t buy at all.

He got even closer, slightly pressing his body against yours until your heavy breaths were melting into one another and you could feel his hardness on your stomach.

You did not respond. You were brain dead. All you could feel was your core painfully clenching around nothing and your blood flowing down to your lower belly, emptying your head of any thought beside those filled with the desire to feel his body.

“Mh.. okay..” he said, gently resting his hand on your thigh and starting to go further up with an excruciating slow pace. “So you don’t like this.”

It wasn’t a question, but it was clear he was looking for a reply you were unable to give. A soft moan escaped your lips at his gentle touch, which you didn’t move away from. A silent green light for him to go even further up, taking his caress under the hem of your skirt until his digits were brushing the damp fabric of your underwear.

“You want me to stop, Y/N?”

His words were a mere whisper against your lips to which you couldn't help but faintly gasp.

“No.” You found yourself saying, right before being cut off by the kiss he gave you, pressing his lips against yours and spreading them open for his tongue to enter your mouth.

You moaned, melting like pudding against his body while his fingers started drawing slow circles on your sensitive clit.

“For someone who finds me disgusting you got yourself soaking wet pretty fast, princess.”

His provocative words only got you wetter and needier, pushing you to the edge of your psychological barricade. Your hands rushed to his belt, unbuckling it with fast and sloppy movements until you could zip down his jeans, letting his hard cock spring free in front of you.

Fuck he’s big.

He seemed to have somehow read your thoughts in your eyes, since he chuckled, guiding your hand to wrap around his width and slightly moving it up and down while letting out a raspy moan.

“Are you gonna be a good girl and take me in your mouth, princess?”

You licked your lips, looking up at him with your eyes filled with lust while you slowly got to your knees. You never broke eye contact, pumping him slowly but steadily before swirling your tongue around the tip of his cock, covered with precum.

“Tastes good?”

“Mhmh.” You nodded with a mischievous smile on your face.

Your mouth soon wrapped around his cock, taking it all in until you started gaggin a bit for the length. A reaction which made him moan loudly and grab your hair, steadying his grip in order to guide your head in the increasing pace.

“Fuck your mouth feels so good.”

“You like it? Is this what you pictured while jerking off to my photos?” You said during a small pause, not even giving him the time to respond with anything but a loud moan, since you immediately got back to deep throating his cock like it was your last meal.

“Fuck I’m close.”

Those words only made you move faster, keeping your eyes locked with his to take in every ounce of pleasure you could get from him. And at that point there wasn’t much he could do to hold back. You suddenly felt his hot semen spilling down your throat.

However, you only had the time to swallow before he leaned down, wrapping his arm around your waist and lifting you up with ridiculous ease.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist, letting him push you against the wall and move your wet panties to the side to sink deep inside your throbbing core.

You let out a sharp moan, welcoming his size between your tight walls with pleasurable pain. One of his hands got under your shirt and bra, squeezing your breast and tracing circles with his thumb on your hard nipple.

“Look at you. You got so wet just by sucking my cock, baby?”

His words were again a lustful whisper against your parted lips, but you were unable to respond – your voice cut by the deep thrusts he was torturing you with. You were sure, however, that the lewd sounds of your wetness were enough of an answer to him.

“Such a pretty little slut. What are you gonna tell the others when they’ll see my cum dripping down your thighs?”

You moaned loudly, helping his pace with the movements of your own hips to take him even deeper.

“I’m gonna tell them that this lame sex little slut made you come twice in a row.”

He groaned, thrusting harder in you.

“You are so fucking hot.”

The pace got quicker and quicker until you found yourself out of breath, calling his name in between moans while your legs started shivering, signaling your forthcoming orgasm. And when it came, it hit you like a train, making you grab his hair and moan loudly while your walls clenched around his cock. You felt him twitch inside you until he sank deep with sloppy thrusts, releasing his orgasm inside you with a raspy moan.

You two took some moments to relax your racing heartbeats, leaning against each other's forehead with eyes closed and heavy breaths.

When you felt again capable of speaking, you let out a pretty laugh, pressing your palm against his cheek.

“Hope this memory will serve you well for your future lonely nights.”

He laughed, caressing your nose with the tip of his.

“Trust me, this won’t stay in the past.”

“Jerkass.”

“Nerd.”

[babeyvenus]

My Future

Derek Hale x OC

Samantha, Stiles and Scott are always joking about the impossible. Who wouldn't when your best friend's dad is the sheriff of Beacon Hills? All jokes stop when they realize the impossible is indeed possible.

Chapter 24: Taken

Sam sat in Stiles' car as he took her to the school. Lydia went missing again.

"That girl can never stay in one place…", Sam muttered to her best friend.

"She ended up somewhere. What if it's a dead body?", he asked. 

They quickly arrived at the school. "Where is she?", Stiles called as they got out of the car.

"Over here.", Allison replied as the two rushed up to her. Lydia was beside her, a dazed look on her face.

"What happened?", Sam asked. "It's the same thing. Same thing as the pool. I got into the car heading somewhere totally different and ended up here. And you told me to call you if you found a dead body.", Lydia told Stiles.

"You found a dead body?", Stiles exclaimed.

"Not yet.", Lydia said. 

"What do you mean not yet?", Sam asked in confusion.

"Lydia, you're supposed to call us after you find the dead body!", Stiles fussed.

"Oh no, I'm not doing that again. You find the dead body from now on.", Lydia responded, shaking her head.

"We're not the ones finding the dead body! It's always you! We don't have special weird connections to the dead!", Stiles complained.

"Guys! I found the dead body!", Scott shut them down as they followed his gaze. Hanging over the 'Beacon Hills High School' sign was the body of the victim.

The stone of the sign was covered in the blood of the victim, who was wearing a police uniform. Stiles and Sam's eyes as they muttered simultaneously, realizing who it was. "Tara."

Hours later, the school was flooded with police. Stiles was speechless to say the least. Tara had been a family friend of Stiles.

Sam only encountered her every now and then when they were in middle school. She helped them with homework whenever things got hard. She had been Sheriff Stilinski's partner for a few years now. Now she's dead.

The school itself seemed to be a radar for death. Sam tuned in and out Ms. Blake's English lesson. Sam was suspicious of even more now. Why haven't she said anything about the recent issues? What was she gaining from this? Why she continued on as if she didn't see what she saw was beyond Sam.

"Idioms, analogies, metaphors and similes. All tools the writer uses to tell their story.", Ms. Blake droned on. "Lydia, I wasn't aware you had so many hidden talents.", she complimented Lydia's drawing.

Lydia's been drawing the same exact tree every day lately. It was starting to be creepy at this point. What did the tree mean?

"You and every guy I've ever dated.", Lydia retorted. Sam snickered and Ms. Blake caught it. "Well, that was an idiom, by the way. Sam, could you give me an example of a metaphor?"

Sam glanced at her, boredly. "Raining cats and dogs, heart of snow, you're the eyelash in my eye–"

She cut Sam off. "Thank you, Samantha.", she said with a smile. "Idioms are something like a secret to the people who know the language or the culture. They're phrases that only make sense if you only know the key words. Like saying jump the gun is meaningful only if you know about the starting gun in a race. Or a phrase like seeing the whole board."

"Chess.", Stiles mumbled.

"That's right, Stiles. Do you play?", Ms. Blake wondered.

"No, my father does.", Stiles said. "Now, when does an idiom become a cliché?", Ms. Blake walked back to the front of the class.

"I think I can get to Ethan. And I'm pretty sure I can make him talk.", Scott leaned over and told Stiles and Sam.

"And how exactly are you gonna separate Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum?", Sam asked.

"Wait, hold up, why do you want to talk to him?", Stiles asked Scott.

"The druids are emissaries, right? What if the Darach was an emissary to the Alphas?", Scott asked, making their eyebrows raise.

"Kinda makes sense, but we're going to have a huge problem getting to Ethan through Aiden. Ever since he'd been back to school, they've been stuck at the hip.", Sam says.

"Already found a way to split them up.", Scott said as he and Stiles both turned around and stared at Lydia.

Lydia caught their gaze and sighed. "What now?"

Sam smiled. "Can you do us a favor?"

After catching Ethan alone in a hallway, the trio stayed with him as Lydia was distracting Aiden.

"Why are you even talking to me? I helped kill your friend. How do you know I'm not going to kill another one?", Ethan asked Scott while looking at Stiles and Sam.

"Is he looking at me? Are you threatening me? I'm going to break off an extra-large branch of mountain ash, wrap it in wolfsbane, roll it in mistletoe, and shove it up your freaking—" Sam looked at Stiles in shock at his sudden outburst and pulled him away. "Okay, easy!", she says, and looked back at Ethan, apologetically.

She urned to Stiles. "Before you could even get that branch, he'd rip your head off. You want that?", Sam scolded.

"We're talking to you because I know you didn't want to kill Boyd. And I think if something like that happened now you wouldn't do it again.", Scott said.

"I think he'd do it again anyways. He's part of the Alpha pack, that's what they do.", Sam said, letting go of Stiles.

"You don't know what we owe them. Especially Deucalion. We weren't like Kali and Ennis when we met them. We weren't Alphas.", Ethan explained. Sam raised her eyebrows. They wasn't expecting that much info. "So, what, you guys were betas?", she asked.

"We were Omegas. In actual wolf packs, Omegas are the scapegoat—the last to eat, the one who has to take the abuse from the rest of the pack.", Ethan corrected.

"So, you and your brother were like the bitches of the pack?", Stiles asked.

"Something like that.", Ethan grumbled. 

"So, what happened?", Scott asked.

"They were killers. I mean people talk about us as monsters, but they were the ones who gave us the reputation. And our Alpha was the worst of them.", Ethan explained.

"Why didn't you guys just fight back? Form Voltron wolf, you know? Kick everyone's ass'.", Stiles asked. 

"We couldn't! We didn't know how to control it back then!", Ethan fussed.

"So, Deucalion taught you.", Sam says.

"Yes, and then we fought. We took down a whole pack, one by one. And by the time we got to our Alpha he was begging for his life! And we tore him apart. Literally.", Ethan confessed.

"What about your emissary? They're all dead? Kali and Ennis' too?"

"All of them except for Deucalion.", Ethan corrected.

"You mean Morrell?", Scott questioned. Before Ethan could answer, he let out a pained gasp. He clutched his chest and clenched his jaw in pain. The trio looked at each other in confusion.

"What, what's wrong? Are you hurt?", Scott asked him, concerned.

"Not me. My brother." Sam's eyes widened. She told Isaac to step back and if he's not doing anything, and Derek is still resting…

Sam shook her head. He's not gonna come here…

Cora would though.

Sam quickly ran down the stairs and into the locker room.

Lydia was screaming for Aiden to stop as the sound of metal clanking and bones crushing erupted in the room.

She found Cora on the floor in Lydia's arms. But before she could ask what happened, Aiden tackled her to the floor, wolfed out. She kept his fangs away from her neck as he snapped at her. "Get offa me! Get off!", she yelled.

Aiden was ripped off of her, stumbling back against his brother and Scott. "You can't do this!", Ethan yelled at his twin.

"She came at me!", The other twin shouted, angrily pointing at Cora. Stiles came over and kneeled down next to Lydia, Cora and Sam.

"Doesn't matter! Kali gave Derek till the next full moon. You can't touch him." Ethan pointed at Cora. "Or her. Or her!", then at Sam. 

Ethan pulled his brother away and out of the locker room. Cora was groaning in pain, her head gushing with blood.

Sam helped her up as she clutched her head. Sam sat Cora down, grabbed a paper towel, soaked it under some running water, and dabbed the blood off her forehead.

Cora hissed, yanking her head away. "I know it hurts. I know you don't like me, but let me help you anyways.", Sam scolded, and she reluctantly let her clean her up.

"You okay?", Scott asked Sam and Cora. Sam frowned. "Do I need to answer?"

"She doesn't look okay.", Lydia said.

"I'll heal.", Cora told them. She tossed the bloody paper towel into the sink and stumbled back, Scott and Stiles getting her back on her feet once more.

"I said I'm fine.", Cora growled. "Do you realize how suicidal-ly crazy that was? What were you thinking going after them?", Stiles asked.

"I did it for Boyd!", Cora yelled. "None of you were doing anything."

"We're trying.", Scott assured.

"And you're failing. You're just a bunch of stupid teenagers running around thinking you can stop people from getting killed. All you do is show up late. All you really do is find the bodies.", she argued.

"Cora, you're a teenager yourself and you got put on your ass by a stupid teenager.", Sam said, pointing a hand to the alpha twin. "Not only that, what you just did was a pretty stupid move back there. Had Lydia not been here, or had those twins not been linked, we wouldn't have known what the hell had happened to you. You're not out here trying to stop the sacrifices or dealing with a psycho emissary. We are. We're the ones trying to fix all the problems.", Sam says, stepping up.

"You can't just act on revenge alone. We're just as hurt about Boyd as you are, but we're trying to stop people from being victims to this so no one else will die. You can't do this alone.", Sam told her. Cora glared at her before walking out of the locker room and Sam sighed.

"She's definitely a Hale.", Stiles spoke up and left to walk out. "I'll make sure she gets home."

"I'll come with you.", Sam frowned, following him out of the locker room.

Now they were in Stiles' room as he paced in panic. He was considering telling his dad everything now that they know what the pattern is.

Healers. Warriors. Virgins. Philosophers and guardians. His dad was a potential target. Sam couldn't blame him for being nervous. She hadn't even told her mom what was going on.

But if she knew Deaton… there may be a chance. Hell, if she knew what Deaton did and was a part of it in some way, Sam wouldn't know what to do.

Now Stiles struggled to tell what was going on to his dad who stared at Sam and Cora in confusion. 

"Yes! Okay. No, ugh.", Stiles groaned.

"Stiles, words please.", Sam says. Stiles was mumbling, incoherently.

"Stiles!", Sheriff Stilinski called, impatiently.

"Dad, I'm sorry, okay? Just– I'm trying to figure out where to start from here.", Stiles fidgeted with the ends of his plaid button-down.

"Hey! I don't have this kind of time.", his dad yelled.

"Yeah, because you're working on the murders. We know. That's what we're trying to tell you.", Sam says.

"Okay, for the last year you had all the cases that you couldn't figure out, right? All the murders involving Kate Argent and then Matt killing all the people who had drowned him. And, and all these murders right now…it's like you've been playing a losing game."

"Stiles, the last thing I need right now is a job performance review from my own kid and his friends.", Mr. Stilinski shook his head.

"We're not doing a review, though.", Sam says. Stiles rushed over to one of his shelves and grabbed a chessboard.

"See, that's it, dad. The reason you've been losing the game is because you've never been able to see the whole board." Stiles put the board down on his desk. "We need to show you the whole board." Stiles began setting up the chess pieces with post-it strips. Derek, Scott, and Peter were all black pieces with pink strips. Wolves. 

Chris, Kate, and Allison were all white pieces with purple strips. Hunters.

Jackson was identified with a yellow stripe while Deaton had a blue strip. As for Sam, she had an orange strip with a black piece.

"Last year, during the first murder of the girl that turned out to be Laura Hale, Scott got bit in the woods by an animal when we snuck out."

"You said Scott wasn't there.", Sheriff Stilinski frowned.

"We lied.", Sam says, shamefully. Stiles groaned.

"He turned into a werewolf after a few days. We tried to figure out who killed the girl. We thought that Derek Hale killed his own sister since he's also a werewolf but turns out the Alpha did it. The Alpha's Peter Hale, Derek's uncle."

"Long story short, we were trying to find out who the Alpha was all at the same time Kate Argent was here and trying to kill Derek because she's a werewolf hunter along with the whole Argent family.", Stiles explained.

"The night Peter was planning on biting me, Kate Argent kidnapped Derek and I and held us captive in a cellar. It's what hunters do; they're crazy. But when Scott got us out she shot us.", Sam explained. 

"Deaton healed her because he's some kind of Druid—", Stiles said and took a breath. "And Peter Hale killed Kate Argent because he was killing all those people who started the Hale fire. Then Derek killed Peter. Okay, um, next set of murders—", Stiles looked at the chess board. 

"Jackson wanted the bite from Derek. He gave it to him, but he rejected it. So, he turned into a lizard creature thing called a Kanima and was being controlled by Matt, who was making him kill people as revenge for drowning him. Matt died, I ended up getting powers, Gerard Argent killed him, and Gerard controlled Jackson. We defeated Gerard, then Derek and Peter, who came back from the dead by the way, killed Jackson and he came back to life as a werewolf.", Sam confessed.

"And at the same time Peter Hale was controlling Sam and making her do all this weird crap and made me think she was an Alpha which she isn't but that's done now so they just hate each other. Yeah. Now we've got an Alpha pack running around Beacon Hills and a crazy Darach, which is a Druid that went down the wrong path according to Deaton, running around killing people for sacrifices. And whoever the Darach was ended up slashed up and left for the dead by wolves.", Stiles finally finished with a heavy breath. Sheriff Stilinski blinked a few times.

"Scott and Derek are werewolves?" He raised his brows.

"Yes.", Stiles sighed, believing his father was understanding. 

"And Kate Argent was a werewolf?" He wasn't getting it.

"Hunter. That's purple…hunters.", Stiles fidgeted with the Kate Argent chess piece.

"Along with Allison and her father.", Cora added.

"Yeah. And, my friend Deaton, the veterinarian, is a Kanima?", his dad asked.

"No, no, no, no, no. He's a Druid. Kay? Well, we think."

"So, who's the Kanima?"

"Jackson.", Sam said.

"No, Jackson's a werewolf."

"Yeah, now. Jackson was a Kanima at first then Peter and Derek killed him, and he came back to life as a werewolf.", Sam explained.

"Since everybody finds it weird, he was dead.", Stiles pursed his lips.

"So, who's a Da-Rack?"

"Darach.", Stiles and Sam corrected. Sheriff Stillinski rubbed his forehead in growing frustration.

"We don't know yet.", Cora answered.

"But he was killed by werewolves."

"Slashed up and left for dead.", Stiles corrected.

"We think.", Cora said.

"Why was Jackson the Kanima?", he asked.

"And that's what you've missed in Beacon Hills the past year.", Sam smiled. Sheriff Stilinski leaned back in his chair with a sigh.

"Because sometimes the shape that you take reflects the person you are.", Sam says. 

"And what shape would an increasingly confused and angrier by the second father take?", Sheriff Stillinski asked, annoyed. 

"Uh…that would be more of an expression. Like the one you're currently wearing.", Stiles licked his lips.

"Yeah." Sheriff Stilinski got up from the chair and began heading towards the door.

"We're telling the truth!", Sam yelled. "I have powers!", Sam told him, and he turned around, fixing her with a look.

"Dad, dad, dad! I can prove it, okay? She's one of them," Stiles pointed to Cora, "a werewolf!"

"Stiles, Stiles! That's enough!", Sheriff yelled.

"Dad can you please just hold on.", Stiles pleaded. Sheriff Stilinski sighed.

 She stood up hesitantly.

"Trust us, please.", Sam pleaded to the older man.

"Alright dad, just watch this. Okay?" His dad's eyes widened as they heard a thud on the floor behind them. Sheriff Stilinski ran past Stiles and Sam, and they turned around to see him crouched over Cora who fainted. 

Cora laid unconscious, the cut on her head bleeding black blood.

Shit.

"Call an ambulance.", Sheriff Stilinski demanded. Sam took out her phone and immediately dialed 911. After Sam explained, Stiles dragged her into the hallway, leaving Sheriff Stilinski to take care of Cora.

"We can't take her to the hospital! She's going to heal and then we'll have more questions to answer.", Stiles whispered, panicked.

"Stiles, she's bleeding black. Something bad's happening. As far as I know, Melissa is the closest person we can trust and rely on. We'll take her to her.", Sam reassured.

She took her notebook as she sat in Cora's hospital room. Cora looked sick, pale and almost lifeless. Just like Lydia.

Sam looked down at her open pages. Five words were written down on it: healers, warriors, guardians, virgins, and philosophers.

As far as she knew, Deaton's a healer, and he was almost sacrificed so that was crossed off the list. Stiles' dad was a potential target, so he was on guardian.

Either she or Stiles had to be on virgins…

Would the warriors be Scott?

Who's the philosopher? 

"What happened?", Derek's voice snapped her out of her thoughts as he rushed into the room. He looked panicked as he caught the sight of his sister.

His shoulders immediately slumped as he went to her side, checking her bandages. He could hear her heartbeat, but it was slow. Why?

"She got in a fight with Aiden at school. Stiles and I took her back to his house and she passed out. She's not healing.", Sam said.

"Why isn't she healing?", Derek asked.

"I don't know. But it can't be because of her fight with Aiden, she should have healed already. Something else is going on.", Sam says, frustrated.

Derek took a seat in the chair next to the bed and took his baby sister's cold, lifeless hand in his.

He squeezed it, pressing his forehead to his clasped hands. watching his baby sister cling to life.

Sam sighed, looking at the notes again. Something's missing. "What's wrong?", Derek asked, noticing Sam's frustration.

"Something doesn't add up. It's confusing…", Sam says, looking over her notes again.

"What is?", he asked.

"The sacrifice pattern.", she says as she tried to piece everything together. "You know the pattern?", Derek sat up.

"Yeah, Allison found it out today and told us–" Sam's eyes widened as she looked back down at her notes. Allison. Hunter. Warrior.

"Sam?", Derek urged.

"It's related to us. The pattern's getting close to us.", Sam says, getting up.

"How?", Derek asked.

"Stiles and I have to be the virgins. Allison's the warrior since she's a hunter. Stiles' dad might be the guardian. Deaton's gone so he has to be the healer. I can't find out who's the philosopher….", she trailed on.

"Lydia.", Sam realized. 

"How is Lydia a philosopher?"

"Philosopher, another word for scholar or thinker. She's always brought up some facts every now and then when it helped us. I just— What if there's something more going on than we know about? What if the Darach's closer to us than we thought? The darach is someone we know.", Sam says. 

"I kinda doubt it. I'm still suspicious as to why people are dying just because she gets a feeling. For all we know, it could be Lydia.", Derek said, bluntly.

Sam shook her head. "Lydia finds the bodies, she doesn't cause the deaths.", she said, and pulled out her phone as she got a call from Stiles.

"Where are you?", Sam asked. 

"I'm with Scott.", Stiles said and Scott cuts in. "The school but that's not important. It's not guardians, not law enforcement. It's philosophers, as in teachers! Allison and her father just found Mr. Westover.", Scott informed.

"That makes sense. Tara wasn't always a cop. She used to teach middle school.", Stiles said over the phone.

"Then the last one's going to be another teacher."

"There's dozens of them, Scott. And they're all headed home.", Stiles said. Sam shook her head. "No, Stiles."

"They're all going to the recital!", Scott exclaimed in realization. 

"So, the three of us are going to go protect three dozen teachers?", Sam asked in disbelief. 

"Sounds like a plan.", Stiles mumbled.

Sam sighed and hung up the phone as Derek's eyes never left her. "The Philosophers are the teachers. Looks like I'm going to your girlfriend's recital.", Sam says, taking her things. Derek frowned. "I have to stay here.", Derek said. 

"I know. We'll be back.", Sam says before leaving. Derek stops her, though. "Sam," Derek called. Sam turned around to face him. "Be careful.", he warned. She gave him a smile and nodded before leaving.

After arriving at the school, Sam and Stiles' jumped out of Stiles' Jeep and rushed inside to where the concert had already started.

Stiles and Sam pushed right through the auditorium doors and found Scott watching the concert.

"Hey.", they whispered, catching his attention.

"Why is Lydia not with you?", Sam asked.

"She was, she went to go talk to Aiden, I think. She's somewhere in here.", Scott said, continuing to watch the performance.

Sam looked around and saw the twins. Lydia wasn't with Aiden and Aiden was with his brother.

Something's wrong. Sam quietly left the auditorium and searched for the redhead.

"Lydia?", Sam whispered, looking around the moonlit hallways. She continued walking until she could hear shuffling coming from a classroom to her right. She turned and looked into the classroom with widened eyes. Sitting, bound to a chair, was an unconscious Lydia. Sam ran in, taking in the sight of her as she tried to pry the girl's restraints apart.

"Lydia, wake up.", Sam tapped her cheeks before trying her restraints again.

"She's not going to wake up." A female voice startled Sam. Sam turned around and saw Ms. Blake standing before her.

"You knew all along, didn't you?", she asked as Sam glared at her. Her eyebrows furrowed as Sam came to the realization.

"You're the darach.", Sam muttered. The prissy, snobby teacher who pretended to be innocent. The woman who pretended to cry over Derek's wounds. She was behind everything.

"How does it feel to be out-powered by your enemy?", she smiled. "You were going to kill her.", Sam growled.

"She's just an inconvenience. Just like you.", Ms. Blake sneered before rushing at Sam and knocking her back against stacked desks and Sam groaned as she fell to the floor.

Through her blurry vision, she could see the woman walk over to Lydia before passing out once more.

Last month

"You knew about him this whole time? That's why you asked me if I was okay?", Lydia asked Sam. The girl nodded. "A little after the beginning of the school year.", Sam confessed as they talked about Jackson.

Her eyes widened. "You've known for that long?"

"We've just been trying to keep people safe…", Sam looked down at her hands. 

"From what?", she asked. Sam looked up at her. "Jackson hasn't said anything to you?"

"He's explained to me what Derek's taught him—about the full moons, the hunger, the claws and all. He told me about how he didn't know he was doing the killings, and he didn't know how he got turned into that lizard thing.", Lydia said.

"Kanima.", Sam corrected.

Lydia gave her a sad smile. "You guys have been through a lot."

Sam nodded and explained everything. From Scott's bite to Kate, to Peter's bite, and Allison's mom trying to kill her and Scott, to the whole thing with Jackson's werewolf transformation.

"She tried killing you.", Lydia frowned at the news of Allison's behavior.

"Yep, so we're not talking at the moment.", Sam says.

Sam even told her about the sudden voices she was hearing after talking about Peter's bite. "Deaton told me I was dying. Throwing up black blood and constantly being weak, that was the bite's doing."

"I didn't go through any of that…", Lydia muttered. 

Sam nodded. "The most they told me was that you were just having an allergic reaction but that was it."

Sam groaned as she woke up to see Lydia was whimpering as Ms. Blake was threatening her.

She smiled at Sam. "We're bite buddies.", she said. Sam chuckled. "Bite buddies. I like that.", she grins.

"It's too bad though, and too late." Ms. Blake started to duct tape Lydia's wrist to the chair. Lydia started crying, and pleading no.

She tried yanking her wrists free but to no avail. Sam got up and used Ms. Blake's shadow to push her away from Lydia, slamming her into the blackboard of the classroom before rushing to free Lydia.

The woman groaned and got up, glaring at Sam behind her long dark hair.

She jumped over the desk, ready to run at her with a knife.

"Drop it!" The voice of Sheriff Stilinski yelled from behind Sam. The girl's eyes widened as she turned to him, but Ms. Blake took that as an opportunity to stab the knife into Sam's side, making her drop in pain.

Before the sheriff could react, a loud roar erupted from the back of the classroom. Scott stood there fully wolfed out, threatening Ms. Blake with a growl. He jumped over desks and started clawing at Ms. Blake, who dodged his attacks. She finally knocked him in the chest and sent him flying back into rows of stacked up chairs.

Stiles came running up to the front door of the classroom and looked in with wide eyes. In a swift motion, Ms. Blake shoved a desk in front of the door with ease, blocking his entrance. 

Sam placed her hand on the floor, pulling at Ms. Blake's shadow as she fell to the floor. Looking back at Sam, she kicked her chest and Sam groaned with a cough as the woman got up. 

"There was a girl…there was a girl. We found her in the woods, her face and body slashed apart. That was you, wasn't it?", he asked, angry.

"Maybe I should have started with philosophers—with knowledge and strategy.", she says. Sam's ears rang as she heard the sheriff's gun pop. He shot the woman's leg and she stumbled but soon steadied.

"Healers…" Ms. Blake lunged for the Sheriff and stabbed the knife in his chest. He cried out in pain as she backed him up against a stack of chairs. "Warriors.", she growled. She snatched the badge on his uniform. "Guardians." She crushed the badge with her bare hands. It dropped to the floor with a quiet clank. "Virgins.", she finished, leaning in for a kiss with the Sheriff.

Stiles pushed the desk away from blocking the door and finally entered the room. He helped Sam up and they ran over to where Ms. Blake and his father were previously standing.

It only took a second to blink as they all saw an ugly, disfigured, pale monster in place of Ms. Blake. She let out a screech before leaving with the sheriff.

Scott made it back to his feet as well, but they were too late. All they were staring at was the sight of broken glass.

"Dad?", Stiles called.

As the trio got settled in Stiles' Jeep, her phone rang. Sam winced as she pulled it out of her pocket and saw my mom's face on the screen. She answered it in a rush, trying to sound as normal as possible.

"Hi, mom.", Sam greeted. "Are you with Stiles and Scott? You've been gone all day.", her mother said. Sam nodded, though she couldn't see her. "Y-Yeah, yeah! We went to a recital at school, yeah, we're leaving now.", Sam says, and bit her lip from the pain in her side.

"Okay, just let me know if you're staying at their house–", she heard before she stopped. Sam's eyes widened a bit at the silence.

"Mom?", Sam called. "Hold on, someone's at the door.", she told her. Sam looked at Scott and Stiles as they glanced at her.

Sam heard a crash in her phone's speaker and jumped at the sound. "Mom!? Mom!", Sam exclaimed, calling her mother.

The phone hung up.

Sam could hear the blood pounding through her ears as swallowed, looking at the ended call. Her hand trembled as Stiles looked at her in shock.

The boys quickly took their friend to Derek's loft, rushing in. "Derek! Derek!", Scott called as they entered the loft. "What happened?", Derek rushed into the room.

The boys laid her down on the floor as Sam silently cried. They all looked down at her as Derek examined Sam's wound.

"Ms. Blake.", Sam rasped, groaning. "She's the Darach."

"What?", Derek looked at her in disbelief. Stiles went to go get paper towels.

"She's the Darach. She attacked Lydia, she tried to sacrifice her.", Scott explained.

Stiles came back and pressed the paper towels on her wound. Sam let out a cry of pain, gripping his wrist as he looked at her apologetically. Her body started to hurt all over.

"Then how did she get into it?", Derek asked Scott, gesturing to Sam as he took the paper towels away from Stiles shaky hands, putting pressure on Sam himself.

"I went to look for Lydia. She wasn't with Aiden.", Sam swallowed as Scott looked at her in panic. "Why didn't you say anything!?", he exclaimed, worriedly.

"We don't know! One second, she was at the concert with us the next she was gone. We found her in there.", Scott told him.

Before Sam could explain, she screamed in pain as her head felt like it was gonna explode. Her body felt like it was on fire and felt too sore with every touch. The boys instantly flinched, fidgeting around as they were unsure of what to do.

"What's going on?", Scott yelled.

"I-I don't know!", Derek replied, taking Sam in his arms as she thrashed at his touch. It was too much. Everything burned and hurt. He held her arms in his hands, his veins instantly turning black, but the pain didn't subside.

"Derek, do something! Make it stop!", Scott yelled, covering his ears. "I'm trying!", Derek yelled back, wincing in pain. It was stab wound. It shouldn't have hurt this bad.

The pain started to fade as well as Sam's crying. Her whimpers turned into soft pants as she laid her head into Derek's chest, shutting her eyes.

The boys sighed, but silenced as the werewolves listened for her heartbeat. It was slow. Steady, but worryingly slow.

Derek quickly went to find supplies to clean Sam's wound and dress it. Scott and Stiles couldn't help but sit in silence, feeling the despair of what would come for the sacrifices.

[c-e-d-dreamer]

Okay, I know hockey player versus figure skater is a super cliché rivalry, but all day today, my brain was like “hockey player Cassian! Hockey player Cassian! Hockey player Cassian,” so here we are. Also, fun fact, this exact event actually happened to my little brother at one of his games. TW for blood and injuries. Hope you enjoy :) @nessianweek

The cool rush of the air conditioning is the first thing that hits Cassian as he pushes through the doors. The throwback pop song pumping out of the speakers and the smell of popcorn from the snack bar hits him next. He shifts the strap of his bag on his shoulder, resettling the weight, his sticks clacking together in his other hand. He makes his way over to the board declaring the locker room assignments for the day, squinting until he finds the Illyrians. He's about to head off toward their locker room when his eyes snag on someone. 

Nesta is perched like a queen on one of the benches in the lobby, her white skates resting beside her. She has a sweatshirt pulled on, but the red skirts of her dress skim across her thighs, and Cassian can see the jeweled embellishments peeking out under the collar. Unsurprising, she has a book opened in her hands, probably another of her smutty romances. Even in the harsh fluorescent lighting, Cassian finds himself drawn into her eyes, the way they glint as they dance across the pages. 

Cassian doesn't have to think twice before he's sauntering over to her. He drops his bag with a loud thump at her feet, a smile pulling across his face at her answering glower. He loves this game they play. The way he pushes her buttons and she pushes his always leaves flames licking up his skin in the most delicious way. He's sure they make quite the sight, the hockey player and the figure skater, but he'll never stop going back for more. 

"What do you want, Cassian?" 

"Love the outfit today, Nes. The sparkles really contrast well with your dark soul." 

"Don't you have to go smash someone into the boards?"

"I'd love to press you up against the boards." 

Cassian throws a wink her way for extra good measure, and the way Nesta's eyes narrow has his heart ticking up slightly in his chest. 

"Prick," Nesta mumbles, opening back up her book. 

With a chuckle, Cassian takes it for the cue that it is, picking back up his bag and heading for the locker room. He offers Azriel an easy grin as he passes him, his brother merely shaking his head at his antics yet again. 

~ * * * ~ 

Nesta hears her sister before she sees her, Feyre's laughing bouncing off the walls of the lobby. She closes her book and grabs her skates, but as she heads for the door, her steps falter and pause as she takes in Elain walking in beside Feyre. 

"Since when does it take both of you to pick me up?" Nesta asks once her sisters are close enough to hear. 

"Actually," Feyre starts slowly. "We were thinking we could stick around for the game." 

"What," Nesta deadpans, taking in both her sisters' expressions and inwardly sighing when she sees they're both actually serious. "Fine. Give me the keys, and I'll pick you both up later." 

"Oh, Nesta," Elain says, taking Nesta's hand in her own. "It'll be fun. Besides, you and Cassian are friends. Don't you want to see him play?" 

"We are not friends." 

"That's for sure," Feyre pipes in. "There is way too much sexual tension for that to be considered friendship." 

Nesta shoots a glare Feyre's way, but her sister merely smiles innocently. The mischievous glint swirling in her eyes tells Nesta she's not getting the keys from her youngest sister anytime soon. Which is how Nesta ends up pressed between her two sisters, the cold of the metal bleachers biting into the underside of her thighs and a shared blanket draped across their three laps. Elain keeps clapping excitedly to her right while Feyre shouts, "go, baby, go" every time Rhysand cuts up the ice on her left. Nesta thinks her eyes might actually get stuck from rolling them so much. 

Despite the equipment and jerseys making it hard to tell the players apart, the whole team blending together into a mash of blues and gold's, Nesta finds she can pick Cassian out fairly easily. She tells herself it's because he's clearly the biggest guy on the team and the hair sticking out the back of his helmet is a dead giveaway. But either way, her eyes always seem to find him any time he's on the ice, whether he’s sweeping along the blue line to make a play or throwing his body against the other team. 

They’re into the third period when Nesta watches Cassian jump over the boards, joining the rush before falling back into the neutral zone as the other team gains possession. He guards his man well as the play shifts to their defensive zone, the other player trying and failing to shake Cassian loose. The player tries to deke around him, but Cassian is quicker, their sticks clashing together. 

It's like it all unfolds in slow motion. The puck popping up into the air between them. The other player raising his stick like he plans to bat the puck down. The stick colliding with Cassian's head. 

There's a collective gasp from the crowd watching the game as Cassian crumbles to the ice, falling onto all fours. And then there's red. A few drops at first, but soon it's a steady stream. It seeps into the ice, spreading out around Cassian like a crimson puddle. 

"Oh my gods," Feyre whispers.

"I hope he's alright," Elain chimes in. 

Nesta knows that her sisters keep speaking, but all she can hear is a ringing in her ears, like a high pitched screaming sinking its claws into her mind. Her hands fist into the blanket in her lap, and she watches with wide eyes as a trainer walks onto the ice, pulling the cage of Cassian's helmet up and sliding a towel under. With the help of two teammates, Cassian's on his feet and skates back to the bench. Nesta's stomach roils as one of the rink staffers and the referees scrape Cassian's blood from the ice, and even when the game resumes, she can't take her eyes off Cassian slumped over his knees on the bench. 

~ * * * ~ 

Cassian can't help but poke at the bandage on his forehead as he checks himself in the locker room mirror. It's still tender, and he winces at the pain that radiates from that spot. Definitely going to leave a scar. At least he got a goal tonight. Small victories. With a sigh, he shoulders his bag, grabbing his sticks by the door and heading for the rink exit. 

When he steps into the lobby, he finds Nesta standing there. Cassian knew that both her sisters were here earlier, but a quick sweep of his eyes around the room shows them nowhere to be found. When his eyes dance back to Nesta, she's already looking at him, something intense brewing in her eyes like storm clouds rolling in. It leaves Cassian captivated, and in a few strides, He’s standing in front of her, dropping his bag at their feet. 

"What are you still doing here, sweetheart?" 

Cassian throws as much cheek as he can into the question, letting that cocky grin he knows gets under her skin slide across his face. He expects Nesta to scowl, to make some snide remark back, to pick up their game right where they left off, but Nesta's face remains serious. He watches in confusion as she crosses and then uncrosses her arms across her chest, takes a deep breath like she's steeling herself. 

"I just wanted to make sure you're alright," Nesta explains, her eyes glancing up to the bandage before settling back on his own. 

"Oh," Cassian says dumbly, blinking down at Nesta a few times before his brain finally catches up. "It was just bad luck. Stick hit just right for one of the screws in my helmet to go right into my head." 

"It looked… bad." 

"Well, head wounds bleed a lot." 

Nesta nods and silence falls like a blanket between them. Cassian's brain kicks into overdrive, suddenly desperate to keep whatever this precarious moment is going, keep her talking to him, keep those eyes on his. It sparks in his chest like a piece of flint, fire burning under his skin. He's so busy floundering, trying to will his head and mouth to produce actual words, that he almost misses the frown that takes over Nesta's face, her eyes caught on his hand. 

"You're not thinking of driving, are you?" 

The sudden question takes Cassian by surprise, and Cassian’s brow furrows in confusion until he remembers his car keys are in his hand. 

"How else would I get home?" 

"You can't drive with a concussion."

"What makes you think I have a concussion?"

"How could you not have a concussion?" 

"If I had a concussion, why would I have gone back out on the ice to finish the game?"

"Because you're an idiot." 

Before Cassian can even splutter out a protest at the insult, Nesta is reaching forward and snatching the keys out of his hand. Then, for good measure, she reaches out and takes his sticks out of his hand too. 

"There's an Urgent Care like five miles away that should still be open." 

With that and a final, firm nod, as if she's decidedly made up her mind and Cassian can't change it, Nesta turns on her heel and makes for the doors. Cassian is left there gaping, blinking dumbly after her retreating form, while his sluggish brain tries to grasp what exactly is happening. Maybe he is concussed. Not giving himself another second to contemplate, Cassian scrambles to pick up his bag, tossing the strap over his shoulder as he hurries after Nesta. 

"Can I at least buy you dinner after?"

[lieutenant-simp]

Felt You When I Needed It Most

F!Reader x Wanda Maximoff

Warning: Attempted bank robbery? I guess like also guns and knifes, mentions of blood. FLUFF AT END I PROMISE.

Summary: Whenever someone touches your soulmate you also feel it on your own skin.

Not my Gif

A/N: I still would like some requests please :) I am an absolute sucker for tropes and clichés. Soulmate AUs absolute *chefs kiss* Also this was not proofread.

Words: 1,547

Since you were young, you’ve never had the best track record with injuries and pain. It was awful at first, but as the years went on you had to get used to it. The pleasant experiences all your friends had with their soulmate touch never seemed to match your own. They got the feeling of warm hugs, and you got punches to the face.

To counteract your soulmate, you made it a mission to provide comfort. Clearly, they weren’t getting any. You’d be extra affectionate to your friends, always giving hugs goodbye, and platonic cuddles. It was what you were known for. You liked to think that your soulmate would enjoy it.

Unbeknownst to you, it did. Wanda, your soulmate, would relish the feelings of love. Love she didn’t get. Her guilt would eat away at her every time she would get hurt. When she was tortured by HYDRA, she would cry, not for her, but for you. She, of course, felt horrible when she went on missions for the Avengers, the pain being much less frequent but just as awful.

Your hugs, providing the warmth she never allowed herself to have with anyone. At night she would sometimes feel the warmth of someone next to her, and it was one of the few nights she slept well. Knowing you were safe and loved. She loved you, the constant feeling of warmness and love showing you were there with her. She has always been yours, maybe that's why she never let anyone get close, never go on dates when she had left HYDRA. She certainly had people wishing they were her soulmate, but her heart belonged to you.

-

Your job is much less exciting than Wanda's. Being a bank teller had its perks, you met lots of people every day. Silently praying that one of them was your soulmate. As well as the pay, being the bank that worked for Stark was pretty good. Free coffee at the coffee shop inside while you were working was phenomenal. You never met any of the avengers but you would see them occasionally come in.

-

When Wanda had first come to work for the Avengers, she was new, to well, everything. She hadn’t had a bank when she first joined, and Tony being Tony recommended his own that he used. It was a nice bank, she never had to go in, as Tony’s numerous assistants took care of all the work for her.

However as a gift, Tony had given everyone checks and Wanda went to deposit hers. She would probably donate hers to a local orphanage as she always did with her bonuses. Tony had offered to get someone to do it for her, but Wanda wanted to get out of the compound, especially when she heard about the amazing coffee that was there. She had lunch later with Nat and Bruce. As it was fairly early in the day when she decided to leave, she wanted to get all her errands done beforehand.

Walking into what she thought was one of the safest banks was quite alarming when she saw what was going on.

-

Being at work at 7 in the morning was the one thing you hated about this job. It was always slow in the mornings as well, waiting for people to help was bringing your attention to your fatigue. Although wanting people to come in was even less appealing. But when seven or so men came in, you were eager to help them all.

You smiled and said hello before they quickly showed you their guns. You didn’t even get the chance to press the panic button as one pointed a gun at you. You looked towards where security normally was a curse to yourself as they had been busy, they sat against a wall with guns pointing at them.

You heard the door open, and you look briefly at who came in, but the man pointing the gun at you thought you were trying to run. He grabbed your arm roughly and grabbed his knife. He pulled you towards you and held the knife against your neck stopping you from moving altogether.

He dragged it against your face slowly, scratching into your skin, enough for you to bleed. You cry out in pain.

-

Wanda steps in and sees people attempting to rob from the bank. They quickly noticed what was happening. She grabs her face feeling pain, your pain, which was extremely unlike her soulmate to get hurt. She looks at you and sees the blood trickling out of your cheek. She watches you get slapped and the knife digging into your skin, and she feels it too. She wanted to find you, but not like this. Not when she desperately wanted you safe, to see only the joy in the world which she never got to see much of.

“I suggest you stop now before you get into more trouble than you need to,” She shouts. The men point their guns at her quickly. But her eyes stay on you, she sees the fear in your eyes, the tears threatening to pool, she heard your cry. Wanda focuses her eyes back on the men, her eyes start turning red as she focuses on her powers. Willing the men to drop their weapons and kneel and inhibiting them to move. She didn’t try to control the man that had you, she was too scared that the sudden jerkiness from their fighting would hurt you.

“If you let her go now, you’d make your life so much easier” He merely laughs in her face, before pulling you closer to him the gun pressing roughly to your temple. You look at Wanda, the way her head moves slightly, the same side yours does, as if she could feel it.

Wanda already had alerted the rest of the team as soon as she saw what was happening, so she knows you’ll be okay soon, but she had just found you and she can’t help but worry.

You do get put into a worse situation, the man, that was holding you, decided to try and use you as a bargaining chip. Deciding if he hurt you enough Wanda would let him leave. He started constricting your oxygen take, slowly at first, but now it was getting hard to breathe and see. Wanda wasn’t doing much better than you but the man holding you didn’t have to know that. Slowly you slump against the man, he was startled that you were now unconscious and let you go suddenly, Wanda took this as an opportunity to restrain him as well.

The other avengers had just gotten there when you had fallen. Wanda rushed over to you and put her hand on your chest. She relaxed slightly when she saw you were still breathing.

-

You woke up to bright lights as you opened your eyes slightly. It didn’t look like the normal hospitals that were around you. Your breathing picks up slightly as you remember what happened. You remember men coming in and hurting you but you don’t remember much after.

Wanda looking up and seeing you were awake she makes her way over to you.

“Hey” You turn to look at her, you recognize her from somewhere but you can’t remember where. But holy shit is she beautiful. “Who are you?”

Wanda laughs, “We met at the bank and well, I think I’m your soulmate” She walks closer to you and grabs your hand, and you feel it. You stare dumbfounded at your interlocking hands. “I’m - I’m sorry if this isn’t what you want- This might be too soon I just I don’t know, I was so scared I had just found you and I-“

“No- no, this is exactly what I wanted. I’ve been dreaming of when I’d meet you since I knew what soulmates were. You’re so breathtaking. I-I just I don’t know, uh I don’t know what to do” You look up at her and laugh, “I’m Y/N by the way”

“Wanda, I don’t know really, um I don’t really know how to do this relationship stuff” You squeeze her hand slightly

“Me either, I guess we can figure it out together” You lean up slightly, inviting her to lean closer as well. When she gets close enough you kiss her. Slowly, taking your time, relishing the feeling. Everyone always said that kissing your soulmate was indescribable. The best feeling, something that you crave, they say you love your soulmate the moment your lips first meet.

“I, We should, we should get to know each other first before we say I love you” You stare at her dumbfounded. “You’re at the Avengers compound by the way” You look around and again notice where you are. You look back at Wanda, as if finally recognizing her.

“You’re the, you're the, you’re an Avenger” She laughs at you, “I see you on TV all the time, OH my that’s why you’re hurt all the time” She smiles sheepishly

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that” You squeeze her hand that’s still interlocked with your own.

“I’ll forgive you if you give me another kiss” You grin at her before she laughs and leans forward again.

[fruitcoops]

hii would you write a coops fic that takes place before they’re out when they’re still sneaking around but have like a sweet date night at remus’s apartment

Of course! This is a continuation of Newcomers and Nargles, where Remus babysits Luna Lovegood. Hope you enjoy! SW credit goes to @lumosinlove <3

“Thank you for having me over,” Sirius said quietly as he pressed a kiss to the corner of Remus’ mouth. The only light came from his kitchen, which was far enough away that they were left in soft shadows on his couch. “Really, Re, this is wonderful.”

“There’s no need to be so formal,” he laughed, though Sirius could see the pink flush spreading to his ears. “It’s just pasta and my apartment.”

“I love your apartment.”

The flush deepened. “Moody calls it my hamster cage. You had to duck to get in the door.”

“Details.” Sirius leaned forward for a proper kiss to his lips; they had set a timer for the pasta and had a while yet, if his memory was correct. Plenty of time to settle himself more comfortably in Remus’ lap and kiss him until he got the glazed look in his eyes that Sirius adored.

He wanted this all the time. To come home with Remus every night, without fear of the wrong person (or anyone, really) seeing them. He wanted to kiss him in public and keep his hand in Remus’ back pocket like a cliché movie couple and watch Remus light up when he held his hand. He wanted.

Remus made a soft noise and slid his arms around his waist, holding him light and cozy while he traced small swirls on the small of Sirius’ back. It sent goosebumps racing along his spine—Sirius cupped Remus’ jaw in his hands and hummed his approval. The room was so wonderfully warm, filled with the smell of cooking pasta and sauce on the stove. They had made it together; shoulder-to-shoulder, hip-to-hip, trading kisses in the steam.

God, he wanted it so much it ached.

Remus trailed light kisses along his neck, taking pauses to nuzzle Sirius’ skin and nibble his collarbones. Sirius buried his face in honey curls and let himself believe this was his everyday life. Their everyday life.

A quick knock at the door shattered the illusion. Sirius felt the blood flee his face as they both froze. “Who is that?” he managed.

“I don’t know,” Remus whispered. His pupils were dilated with fear and, with a pained look, he guided Sirius off his lap so he could stand and turn the rest of the lights on. His slender hands smoothed his sweater and jeans in methodical movements, but Sirius saw their tremors.

He distracted himself from panic by looking around the apartment and all its knickknacks; the feeling of being surrounded by Remus in his most distilled form was unparalleled. A little granite wolf figurine sat with its wooden counterpart on the table by the door; dozens of pictures of family and friends scattered the walls with no rhyme or reason to their placement. It was cluttered in the best possible way, and Sirius wanted his whole life to look like it.

The door clicked open. “Hello?”

“Remus!” a woman’s voice exclaimed. “I’m so glad you answered.”

Sirius glanced over and saw Remus’ whole body relax as he opened the door further with a smile. “Hey, Pandora, how are you?”

“Doing fine, doing fine. It’s Phil and I’s anniversary and we’ve got dinner at 7:18, but Luna’s babysitter came down with a cold and can’t make it. We just got the text an hour ago and we were hoping you could watch her while we’re out.”

“Oh.” Remus’ eyebrows shot up. “I—well, I have a friend over for dinner, but we made plenty of pasta for one more, I s’pose. Sirius, is that okay with you?”

It took him a moment longer than was prudent to get over the fact that Remus—kind-hearted, friendly, beautiful, so beautiful—was asking his opinion on letting a kid join their date. Their top-secret, possibly-life-ruining-if-discovered date. “Yeah, that’s fine.”

“Oh, I’m so rude!” the woman gasped. She poked her head around the doorway and waved to Sirius—her long blonde hair cascaded over her shoulder in a messy plait, and her dress seemed to be made of a variety of beads. She was pretty, with a combination of angular features and a heart-shaped face that nudged a memory in the very back of his mind. “I’m Pandora Lovegood, from 7A. It’s so lovely to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you as well.” He padded over and held a hand out to shake, but to his surprise she took it turned it over, furrowing her brow at his palm.

“Well, that’s quite the love line!” She smiled and patted his cheek. Her eyes were glacial blue, but somehow still as warm as a crackling hearth. “Good for you. Your life line isn’t bad, either. I’ll be back with Luna in a moment!”

“Have a good night, Pandora!” Remus called as she fluttered away. “Say hi to Phil for me!”

Sirius was still standing in mild shock when the door closed. “Pandora, Luna, and…Phil?”

“Xenophilius,” Remus said. The corners of his mouth twitched. “Her husband, and Luna’s dad.”

“Hell of a name.”

“We can’t really judge, can we?” Some of his amusement dimmed and he ran a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry for ruining our date. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“No, it’s alright,” Sirius said quickly, kissing his cheek until he smiled. “You didn’t ruin anything.”

Remus looked a bit sad as he looked up despite his smile. “Yeah, but this is our only time together.”

“It’s not the last time I can ever come over to your apartment,” Sirius reminded him as he ran his hands up Remus’ arms. “I think it’s great that you’re doing this for your neighbors. It shows how caring, and sweet, and wonderful—”

“Alright, alright, I get it,” he laughed, cutting Sirius off with a vivid blush.

“Besides, I agreed to this.” He nudged their noses together. “I’m pretty sure my impressive love line can handle another date sometime soon.”

Remus grinned as he leaned in. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Black.”

“Are you going to stop me?”

A tumbling sound came from outside, followed by a peal of giggling and a sharp pattern of knocking. “I did a cartwheel!” a tiny ball of blonde curls announced as it launched itself at Remus’ legs the second the door opened. “Hi, Remus!”

He caught her with a slight wince as Sirius tried to calm his pounding heart. “Hey, sunshine, are you ready for some dinner?”

“Oh, yes, please.” She wriggled down from his arms and gave her mother a bear hug, beaming when her face was covered in kisses.

“Be good,” Pandora said as she set Luna down and brushed her hair out of her face. “Listen to Remus and his friend. We’ll be back by ten at the latest. Thank you both again for doing this. I’ll bring over some cookies tomorrow, Remus.”

“That’s very sweet, Pandora.” Remus’ eyes tensed at the edges, as if he was in pain at the very thought. Pandora whisked herself toward the stairs again and Sirius shut the door behind her. “Luna, do you—”

“I remember you!” Sirius turned and found himself staring into the biggest pair of blue eyes he had ever seen. The memory came rushing back in a flood—Remus, frazzled and fluffed at the edges, with a little girl balanced on his hip. Luna stood on her tippy-toes and he leaned down so she could take his face in her hands. After a moment, she nodded. “You’ve done an excellent job of keeping the nargles away, Mr. Sirius.”

“Thank you.”

“Mama said you and Remus were making pasta. May I have some, please?”

“Of course you can,” Remus assured her, ushering her into the kitchen with a sweep of his arm. “After you, my lady.”

Sirius waited until Luna had safely skipped out of earshot before bending toward Remus’ ear. “Why does she…?”

“Talk like a normal kid and then a Victorian orphan?”

“Yeah.”

“Dunno. I guess that’s what happens when your mom’s a chemist and part-time psychic and your dad owns The Quibbler.” There wasn’t a trace of judgement on Remus’ face as he raised his voice by a few degrees. “Be careful by the stove, honeybun.”

“I will!” Luna chirped back. Sirius couldn’t place why, but he held undeniable affection for the little girl, even after only two meetings. She was unapologetically odd; he was sure he could never get bored of talking with her.

Luna sat on the countertop while they served up dinner, happy as a clam as she recounted her and her father’s hunt for Fizzing Whizbees at the candy store. They were her mother’s favorite, apparently, but Luna had yet to see one in real life. Her conversational skills came to a sharp halt during dinner; it was so startling that Sirius grew concerned after two minutes without her high-pitched contributions.

“Luna? Are you alright?”

“Hmm?” She looked up from her plate with a curious glance between them and gave Sirius a bright smile. “I’m making an octocapus.”

“An octopus?” Remus leaned over to look. “Wow, you got all the legs with your noodles! Way to go!”

“You’re a great artist,” Sirius agreed as Luna continued working on her masterpiece.

“Yeah, I know.”

He bit his lip to keep in his laughter and met Remus’ eyes; at first, he had been a bit worried about babysitting during a date, but he couldn’t imagine a better way to spend the night. When their plates were clean and Sirius was warm and drowsy from carbohydrates, Remus collected the dishes and headed back into the kitchen despite Sirius’ offers for help.

Luna gave a wide yawn with her head propped on one hand and turned to Sirius the moment Remus turned the sink on. “Do you give Remus kisses?”

It took all of Sirius’ self-control not to accidentally spew water all over the literal child sitting across from him. Instead, he coughed and spluttered into his napkin while the alarms in his brain began to blare. Remus showed no sign of hearing their conversation while he rinsed out the large pasta pot. “What?”

“I’d like it if you did,” Luna continued with nothing but her usual dreamy expression. “Remus needs friends, and mama says he could use some kisses.”

“I think everyone could use some kisses,” Sirius said evasively. His heart galloped in his chest.

“Hmm. Yeah. How long have you been friends?”

“We’ve known each other a little longer than you’ve been alive, but we’ve only been friends for about two years.”

“That’s a good amount of time.”

“Oh?”

She put her chin in both palms, suddenly looking much older than she was. “I’ve been alive for four whole years. That’s a long time. If you’ve known someone for four whole years, you should give them kisses.”

Sirius stared at her. “That’s quite the philosophy.”

“What’s that?”

“An idea.”

“Why didn’t you just say ‘idea’?”

“I…don’t know.”

She hummed a little under her breath. “Will you color with me?”

“Yes,” he answered as relief coursed through him. He had no clue how she had gone from blunt questions that could turn his whole world upside down to coloring, but he didn’t care. “Yes, I would love to.”

Luna slid off her seat and hopped over to Remus’ desk, then dug around in the drawers and emerged with a few sheets of blank paper and some pens. “I’m bad at outlines. Will you draw them for me?”

“Absolutely.”

------------------------

Luna fell asleep halfway through coloring a Kneazle with Remus, which as far as Sirius could understand was just a cat that had its face squished. But it made her happy, and he would draw a million squishy cats to keep her questions about Remus to a minimum.

As soon as Remus finished tucking her in beneath a heavy blanket on the couch, he turned and crushed his lips against Sirius’ like a man dying for air. The kiss lasted long enough that Sirius was staring to get lightheaded before finding himself the (quite enthusiastic) recipient of a rib-crushing hug. They held each other for a few minutes, silent and swaying, before Remus let him go with a final kiss and they began to clean up the mess.

True to her word, Pandora returned just before ten pm with a blond man at her side and a big hug for her daughter. “Goodnight, Luna,” Remus whispered. They received a sleepy wave in response and then, finally, they were alone. “You are the best person ever.”

Sirius wound his arms around Remus’ waist and melted a little when strong hands combed through his hair. “Funny, I could say the same thing about you.”

“I didn’t know you could draw.”

He shrugged one shoulder. “I can doodle. It’s nothing fancy.”

“You drew imaginary monsters based on descriptions from a four-year-old.” Remus cupped his cheek and rested their foreheads together. “You’re amazing.”

“This was a pretty awesome date,” he mumbled, closing his eyes to bask in their little bubble.

“We should do it again sometime. Preferably without the child, though.”

Sirius’ smile came all the way from his heart as he buried his face in the slope of Remus’ neck. “As long as I get to be with you, I’m happy.”

It was the closest thing to ‘I love you’ he could bring himself to admit, but for now, it would have to do.

[dreamwritesimagines]

Burn The Witch 2 - First Impressions [Bucky Barnes x Reader]

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful support and feedback to the first chapter my loves ! ❤ Here’s chapter 2, I hope you like it as well and please let me know what you think! ❤ Thank you! ❤❤❤

Word Count: 2500

Warnings: Mentions of blood, sex, violence, death, manipulation, language.

Summary: First impressions can be wrong.

Chapter 1 

Being a spy for years had taught you to be able to tell whether a mission would be dangerous or not before they even sent you there.

For example, the mission they had put you on three years ago where you had to poison the target in a very crowded ballroom while pretending to be an artifacts expert was a dangerous one.

Or five years ago when you had quite literally brought a dagger into a gun fight in a storage unit, that was also quite dangerous.

But something told you that going after Bucky Barnes would be the most dangerous mission you’d ever had so far, and you weren’t even going to be engaged in a fight.

Instead you were expected to make him fall in love with you, which-

To be honest, engaging in a fight would’ve been much easier.

“This is unacceptable.” Your best friend paced in the empty conference room while you nibbled on the chocolate, keeping your eyes on your phone. “You should’ve said no.”

“I can’t say no, it’s a mission.”

“No, it’s my father treating you like a—like a—“ she threw her hands up, “Honey trap!”

You shrugged your shoulders, scrolling down on the screen but then looked up when she snapped her fingers in front of your eyes.

“Y/N!”

“Chloe if I nail this mission, I’ll get the position I want. I could be a handler next year, do you know how big that is?”

“You need to stop pretending like you’re fine with this.”

“You’re sending me the files tonight right?” you asked, ignoring her huff of impatience and she sat down, crossing her arms.

“Yes,” she said, “Everything there is to know about Bucky Barnes is in there, lots of things you could use. I gathered it myself. His past, his interests back then, what he has been doing since he got here, his favorite porn, his favorite musicians—“

“I’m sorry, what was that last one?”

“His favorite musicians?” she played dumb, grinning and you shifted your weight.

“You wouldn’t do that background check on me, would you?”

Her grin widened as she wiggled her brows, “Just so you know, you’re such a cliché.”

“Jesus Christ.” You slipped a little in your seat, your cheeks burning, “I hate you so much.”

“No you don’t,” she sang and you tried to focus on the screen, but the door to the conference room opened, gathering your attention. Your jaw dropped as soon as you saw the figure stepping inside and you jumped on your feet as Chloe gasped.

“Keith?”

Keith was the third member of your small friend group. He was a field agent just like you were, and for years you, Chloe and Keith had always had each other’s backs, in or outside of missions.

Back at the academy you were inseparable and it had been months since you had last seen him.

“Figured I’d find you two here,” he said, “I just followed the scent of despair.”

“I thought you were still in Prague!” You rushed to hug him and he ruffled your hair before you batted his hand away.

“I was but I got called in at 5 in the morning. General’s orders.”

“It was about time my father did something right.” Chloe came to kiss his cheek, making him grin, “Gosh, it’s so good to have you back!”

“Good to be back, gorgeous,” he lifted her up in a hug before setting her down as she squealed, “I missed you.”

Your jaw dropped when you saw the file in his hand, “Hold on. Is that what I think it is?”

“It could be,” he told you, “That is, if you’ll have me in your mission.”

“The best news I got since I landed.” You pumped your fist in the air “Yes! Yes I do want you in the mission!”

“So then,” he said as he sat beside you and put his feet up on the table while you leaned back, “Is what I heard true?”

“Yes and you need to tell her she’s being ridiculous,” Chloe motioned at you and Keith pursed his lips.

“I just thought we put this whole honey trap thing behind us back in 1950s.”

“Exactly!”

“Guys come on, if Accords pass—screw that, even if they don’t pass, think about how we can use Barnes.”

Keith clicked his tongue, tilting his head.

“Will we use him more than we’re using you right now?” he asked and you rolled your eyes, grabbing the file in his hand.

“Your alias is Whistler this time?”

“Yep,” he nodded, “General says yours is Shrike?”

“Mm hm.”

“Considering what this Barnes mission entails, I’m surprised he didn’t call you Swallow.”

You kicked at his boot and he let out a laugh, holding his hands up.

“What? That was the terminology back in the day for agents seducing people for the mission, wasn’t it? Raven for guys, swallow for girls.”

“Hilarious,” you deadpanned and Chloe sat on the table, still pouting.

“You’re both fine with this then?”

“Chloe, the guy was around in World War 2,” you said patiently, “If I don’t want to sleep with him, I’ll just tell him I’m waiting for marriage, it’s probably not a foreign concept for him, old times and all. Happy?”

She arched a brow, “If you say so,” she said, “But you know there are examples of undercover agents falling for their targets, right? Especially in situations like these.”

Keith chuckled, “Yeah, that’d make a great story for your grandchildren.”

“Except that I wouldn’t get to have those grandchildren because I’d be killed.”

“Don’t say that!”

“Just let me know beforehand if the Winter Soldier decides to make an honest woman out of you,” Keith said and you stuck your tongue out at him.

“Look at you, making jokes.”

“I’m a funny guy, thank you very much,” he said, “So what are we doing tonight?”

“Killing some Hydra scum,” you said, “There’s this gallery opening, apparently evil guys love art nowadays. Who knew?”

“You need a spotter?”

“Sure thing.”

“After you guys are done killing that target, can we hang out?” Chloe asked, “We need to catch up.”

“Only if I get to pick the movie,” Keith made a face, “I don’t trust your taste after the last time.”

“10 Things I Hate About You is a classic!”

“Do you want to hear the one thing I hate about you, Chloe? Spoiler, it’s your taste in movies.”

“Play nice, kids,” you said, skimming the lines on the screen and Chloe huffed.

“Fine. And after that, we can work on the seduction mission.”

“You’re in on that as well?” Keith asked and Chloe nodded.

“Duh.”

“Look at us, Charlie’s Angels is back.” Keith said, “Wait, does that mean General is Charlie?”

You supressed a laugh and shook your head fondly, looking at Keith.

“I missed you, asshole.”

“Missed you too, trouble.”

                                                       ***

Working for the division you did had its advantages, and it never stopped to surprise you how you could always get the newest gadgets before going on missions. Chloe had installed certain features into your “sniper costume” as she put it, and one of them was a ring that would call the nearby agents of your team to your location, and the other one was a ski mask that was both bulletproof and could change your voice.

“Batman does it, why not you?” she had said before making you try it.

“Shrike, ma’am?” Keith’s voice echoed in your ear and you adjusted your earpiece before checking the harness around your waist, just in case you needed to jump off the building. Your team was already in position if you were in any way compromised, and you started setting your sniper rifle.

“Since when do you call me ma’am?” you asked Keith and he chuckled.

“Since they put you in charge of a team.”

“Don’t listen to him, guys,” you said to the rest of the team and took a look at the city lights, taking a deep breath.

Rooftops were always peaceful, even when you were holding a sniper rifle.

“ETA of the target?”

“Two minutes.” Keith said and you pressed your lips together, pointing the rifle at the entrance of the gallery, looking through the scope.

“So I think I found a movie for tonight,” Keith said as you shook your head slightly, trying to focus.

“Later.”

“James Bond?” he asked, “We can take a shot every time the movie gets something wrong about being a spy. We’ll probably be hammered by the end of the night.”

“One minute, Shrike.” One of the agents said and you exhaled through your mouth, your finger on the trigger.

“No seriously, don’t you guys like James Bond? I think it’s because of that movie I chose this line of work, but—“ Keith was cut off when you pulled the earpiece out of your ear to have a moment of silence so that you could concentrate when the target arrived, but as soon as you grabbed the rifle again, you heard the familiar sound of someone racking the slide of a gun, followed by a calm voice.

“Easy there,” he said, “Put the rifle down.”

You cursed at yourself in your head, then withdrew your hands from the rifle. Your earpiece was off, meaning that no one in your team could hear you, and you checked whether you could grab the gun from him, but he wasn’t standing close enough.

Professional.

You held up your hands, then slowly turned to see who was threatening you before your heart dropped to your stomach.

Damn it.

This was definitely not the way you were supposed to meet Bucky Barnes.

Thankfully you were wearing a ski mask, so your identity wouldn’t be compromised and the next time you met him, you could pretend.

And he would be none the wiser.

You pressed on the ring Chloe had given you to alert the others, keeping your eyes on the barrel of the gun.

“I thought I saw a glimpse of a scope.”

“Congratulations,” you deadpanned, trying to stall so that your team could get there, “You want a watch as a prize? A refrigerator?”

He looked almost surprised at your snarky comment and you shrugged your shoulders.

“Listen, it’s my target. So if you want to kill him, too bad. I was here first, early bird and all that, shoo.”

Even you could see his confusion that lasted for a second and a small smile pulled at your lips.

“Ah. You don’t know who my target is.”

“I know I’m not going to let you kill someone in a pretty crowded gallery.”

“Even if it’s some Hydra scum?” you asked and he pulled back.

“What?”

You stole a look at the entrance of the gallery over your shoulder as the limo pulled over.

“Mm hm. You really shouldn’t be stopping me Barnes. We got this, you can go and play the superhero with Wilson.”

“You know who I am.”

“Everyone knows who you are,” you stated, making him pause for a moment.

“I didn’t catch your name.”

You tut tutted, “Don’t be greedy.”

“Well, how do I know you’re not lying about your target if you can’t even give me your name?”

“Why would I lie about my target?”

“So that I would let you shoot him.”

“Aw, you’re cute,” you taunted him, tilting your head, “But I don’t recall asking for your permission.”

He stared at you for a couple of seconds.

“Who are you?” he asked and you grinned as you heard the footsteps coming closer.

“Until next time, soldier.” You said as the team burst through the door, guns blazing. He turned around to point his gun at the agents, immediately taking cover as you picked up the rifle again.

It was time to get back to work.

You looked through the scope, found the target and pulled the trigger, blood splattering over the walls and chaos erupted over the street instantly, people screaming and running everywhere. You looked over your shoulder to see your team managing to keep Barnes busy with the constant gunshots, then you checked the harness around your waist again and jumped over the roof to land on top of the car waiting for you in the street. The rope went up to the roof as you unbuckled it and got into the car, pulling the ski mask off your face.

“You weren’t compromised, right?” Keith asked and you shook your head.

“I’m not an amateur,” you said as he stepped on the gas, the car breezing through the road. 

“You don’t look so happy,” Keith said after taking a look at you and you pursed your lips together, deep in thought.

“He didn’t take me hostage.”

“Hm?”

“When the team burst through the door and I turned around to kill the target. He’s a super soldier, he could’ve grabbed me, use me as a leverage to get out of there. That’s what I’d do but he didn’t attack me or the team, he took cover.”

“So?”

“Keith, it’s the fucking Winter Soldier we’re talking about. He can kill a team of agents in seconds, but I bet he just got out of there. Without hurting anyone.”

“Maybe he’s just a good person.” Keith chuckled and you slipped a little in the seat, biting at your fingernails.

“I guess.”

“Would it be so bad?”

“It would make no difference,” you muttered, keeping your eyes on the city lights, “Good person or not, he’s my mission.”

“Clearly, but aren’t you going to feel just a little guilty if he ends up being a good guy?”

You scoffed a laugh and turned to him.

“I’m no use to anyone if I develop a guilty conscience,” you stated, “Much less to myself. You know that.”

A silence fell upon the car before he heaved a sigh.

“Listen, Chloe has a point as always,” he said, “These kind of missions are hard, okay? The longer you’re playing your part, the easier it will be to believe it. Feelings get involved, there are bunch of agents who ended up hesitating when it was time to bring their target in, so if you—“

“I won’t hesitate.”

“Y/N.”

“I won’t hesitate,” you repeated, “I swear. The minute this mission is over, I’ll bring him in. Orders are orders.”

Keith let out a whistle, “If you say so.”

You bit inside your cheek and leaned your head on the window, fixing your gaze outside.

“Considering the lack of alternatives,” you rasped out, “Yeah. Yeah I do say so.”  

Chapter 3 

[seongsangi]

your girl calls me daddy too

pairing: johnny x reader

summary: the story of getting involved with your professor/classmate's dad 👀

word count: 4.5k

warnings: professor!johnny, dilf!johnny, daddy/sir kink, age gap bc johnny is older in this fic (reader is 21+, we dont do that barely legal just turned 18 shit) straight up smut, that's all we do on this blog

author's note: this took me from 8 pm to 4 am to write. idk if that's fast or not compared to some people but bitch... that's a record for me!

another note: idk if anyone's wondering but johnny is a single dad in this, no cheating or infidelity involved!

No one knows about your relationship with Johnny Suh, certainly not your family or friends, and certainly not his son who is in the same biology course as you this semester. The secret is kept strictly between the two of you, the thrill of hiding it making it that much more exciting.

The relationship began with him being your chemistry professor. The brief glances, lingering touches, and frequent visits during office hours became too much for either of you to deny the attraction. It felt so wrong, the professor-student affair being too much of a cliché that you were hesitant to follow through with it. But after a particular session discussing the assigned homework, you both realized it was now too late to go back.

***********************************************

“Professor, why are you looking at me like that?” you fiddle with your pen in your hand.

“I’m sorry, I’m just a little distracted.” Mr. Suh lets his eyes trail down your figure, eyeing the neckline of your dress that reveals just enough to get his imagination going. He’s thinking about the way you waltzed in here with that damn sundress on, the way you bite your lip when you’re confused on a reaction mechanism, the way your innocent eyes look up at him when he’s explaining the concept. He feels foolish, unable to focus on your question when you’re sitting across from him looking like that, the dress hugging your figure in all the right ways.

“Should I come back another time?”

Mr. Suh clears his throat, giving you another glance up and down before collecting himself. “No, no, I promise I’m fine. Let me check your work right quick.” You hand him the paper, watching as he leans back in his chair examining the mechanism you drew. You let your eyes do the same thing to him as he did to you, taking in the long sleeve black shirt he wore today that hugs his biceps almost too well. It has your hands itching to feel them under your fingers, to take the shirt off and see him in all his glory. Your eyes roam his face, the sharp features drawing you in. You imagine his plump lips doing things to your body that are sure to take your breath away.

He does not fail to notice your lingering stare, or the way you’re fidgeting in your chair. He pulls the sleeves of his shirt up his forearm and grabs his pen, leaning in to show you where you went wrong. As he’s explaining, you lean in too, your perfume filling his senses. You can’t seem to focus on what he’s saying, too busy tracing the veins along his arms and hands. Oh, how they would feel wrapped around your – okay, bitch you have got to chill.

“Miss Y/N, is something the matter?” The way your name rolls off his tongue has you swooning, the added ‘miss’ making your tummy flutter.

You feel your body temperature rising with each second, fiddling with your hands in your lap, your mind going crazy with impure thoughts. You take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down. “Uh, I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”

Mr. Suh notices your attention is elsewhere, setting his pen down and looking you directly in the eye, making you feel tiny under his intense gaze.

“You’re playing a very dangerous game.”

The statement catches you off guard, your cheeks immediately getting hot. “I- I don’t know, wha- what do you mean?” you stutter, which he finds endearing seeing you all flushed.

“Let’s not act like we don’t know where your mind is at,” he sees right through you. “Cause I’ll be honest, I’m right there with you.” His voice drops a couple octaves, sending a wave of arousal through you at the sound of it. Oh fuck, is this really happening right now?

Your breath gets caught in your throat, unable to respond. What the fuck do you even say to that? Mr. Suh gets out of his chair, his long legs coming around the desk and standing in front of you. He leans down real close to your face, bracing himself on the arm rests of the chair you’re in, effectively caging you in. If you thought you were getting warm before, you’re on the verge of burning up now. He’s smirking down at you, enjoying just how riled up you’re getting.

“Are you gonna tell me you haven’t been thinking of things other than chemistry during our meeting?” He cocks his head to the side, challenging you with a tease in his words.

“Um, professor, I don’t think we should be doing this…” you trail, glancing at the closed door behind you. His face is too close for comfort, looking anywhere but at him.

“Then tell me to stop,” his lips now ghosting your neck, so close you can feel his breath on your skin. He’s watching your chest rise and fall with heavy breaths. Every fiber in your being is telling you this is wrong on so many levels, but it’s making your body tingle in a way you can’t ignore. You’ve been thinking about him and it’s obvious he has been too, what’s stopping you from going further? You open your mouth to say something, but you can’t find any words to say, nothing to let him know you don’t want this.

“You have to tell me you want it then,” he pulls back from you slightly, waiting for your confirmation. If you don’t explicitly say yes, then he won’t push it any further.

You can’t take this any more, sitting up straight and saying “I want it” in one breath before crashing your lips against his. There’s no taking this back, you tell yourself as you let him take control. You sigh into the kiss, his lips feel so right against yours, letting the lust cloud your mind. He cups the side of your face, pulling you up by your waist to get a better angle to devour your lips. His hips push you against the desk, lifting you slightly to sit on the edge. Your hands bunch up his shirt, pulling him even closer to you. He bites your bottom lip as he pulls away, searching your face for any sign of regret. Instead, he’s met with your blown out expression, needy eyes asking for more.

Mr. Suh shakes his head in disbelief, almost chuckling. “You don’t know what you do to me, miss Y/N.” You love it when he calls you that. He steps back, turning around to lock the door. The sound of the lock only fuels your excitement, eager to see what he’ll do next. Your hands grip the edge of the desk as Mr. Suh stalks towards you, like a predator eyeing his prey. Oh, how you want him to eat you up right now. Your thighs press together at the thought, a movement he quickly notices.

His hands trail up the side of your thighs before resting on the curve of your ass. The fabric is soft to the touch but he bets your skin is softer. “What are you thinking of, you naughty girl?” His lips are back on you, letting your head fall to the side as he peppers kisses along your neck. “Just thinking about you,” you pant.

“I know that much. What do you want me to do, hmm?” he presses further.

“Anything you want,” falling further under his spell. He groans in your ear, ready and willing to take advantage of your submission. It’s more like you’ve got him under your spell. He knows this is wrong on a professional level, but fuck that right now.

“Turn around,” twisting your body before you can even do it yourself. His touch makes you so dizzy, bracing your hands on the homework assignment that has long been forgotten. He kisses your shoulder, pressing close to your backside as he admires you from behind, the dress doing wonders to accentuate your curves.

“You look so good in this dress doll,” kneading your ass in his hands. He gives it a tame slap, not wanting to be too rough since there are still other offices around his. “But I bet you’d look even better with it off.” The wetness in your panties is becoming unbearable, desperate for him to touch you where you need him.

“Touch me please,” your sweet voice begging him is more than enough for him to comply. He bunches your dress up over your waist to expose your soft skin, the thin panties you’re wearing showcasing your wet spot off clearly. His pants are getting incredibly tight, blood rushing to his member with each second. He lifts your right knee to rest it on the desk, trailing his fingers over the thin fabric.

“Right here?” he slides his fingers up and down your center, earning a shudder from you.

“Or here?” pulling your panties to the side and coating his fingers in your arousal. You let out an audible moan when he finds your clit, which prompts him to clamp his hand over your mouth. He cranes your head back to look you in your eyes, his hand still rubbing against your bundle of nerves.

“You’ll have to be quiet or else I’ll stop. Can’t have anyone around us hearing you.” You nod in understanding, eyes fluttering shut as two of his fingers slide into you with ease. You arch your back a bit more, pushing your hips further into his hand. It’s a good thing his hand is still covering your mouth because you can’t help your moans when his fingers are drilling into you so fast.

“You’re taking my fingers so well doll,” he’s gonna drive you insane with that nickname. You turn your head to get a better look at him, watching him part his lips as he watches his fingers disappear in and out of your core.

He slides a third finger in and you want to scream, the stretch makes you feel so full. You’re soaked now, the lewd sounds of your wetness making you feel self-conscious. Just then, his office phone rings. You gasp, looking at him with wide eyes. He lets go of your mouth but doesn’t pull his fingers out of you, pumping them in even as he reaches for the phone. You try to stay as quiet as you can with his fingers still working your core.

“Hello, this is Johnny Suh.” He looks you dead in the eye, telling you you better shut up without verbally saying anything.

“Ah, Jaehyun, what can I do for you?” Your legs buckle when he hits that spot, almost letting out a yelp. He shoots you another glare, pulling his fingers out and shoving them in your mouth to keep you quiet. He sets the phone down for a second, leaning in to your ear. “Play with yourself while I take this call. And shut up, I mean it.”

You can taste yourself on his fingers, the whole thing making you feel so filthy. Your hand reaches down to your core, rubbing yourself slowly as Mr. Suh picks the phone up again. You lick him clean, getting your own fingers wet now with your slick. He’s listening to the other person on the line but paying close attention to your hand in between your thighs. He likes watching you play with yourself, getting off on the thought of him.

“Okay, all that sounds great. Send me an email of the template and I’ll check it out. I’m with a student right now, so can I call you back later?”

When he finally gets off the phone, he shoves his fingers further into your mouth, almost making you choke on them. “Didn’t I tell you to be quiet? You couldn’t even do that?” You’re so worked up, you can feel your high approaching and you just want him to help you reach it.

You grab his wrist, pulling his fingers out of your mouth. “I’m so close,” bringing his hand back to your core.

“You want to cum? Beg for it,” he doesn’t make a move to touch you.

“Please sir, I wanna cum on your fingers, please please.” You stroke his arm gently, pleading with your eyes, anything for him to touch you again. How could he say no when you’re looking at him like that?

He tells you to turn around to face him, holding your leg against his waist. He watches your face contort in pleasure as he gives you what you want, rubbing yourself at the same time to chase your high. You try to keep your voice to a minimum, your sweet moans fueling him on. If his fingers feel this good in you, you can’t even imagine what else he’s got in store for you.

“Fuuuck, sir I’m cumming,” you cry weakly, closing your eyes and clenching around his fingers as you finally get that release. The sight of you coming undone on his hand is almost enough to take you right then and there, but he holds himself back. Your hand grips his wrist tightly, but he doesn’t stop pumping in and out of you until you open your eyes, worried he’s gonna try to get another one out of you so soon.

He finally stops, taking the chance to taste yourself by licking his own fingers clean. God, you thought sucking his fingers was hot, this is even better. He loves the taste of you, already craving more. Mr. Suh runs his hand along your inner thighs, taking a mental image of the sight of you spread open for him on his desk.

“Miss Y/N, I think it’s safe to say that we should keep this a secret between us.”

***********************************************

And that’s how your intimate relationship with your professor began. You’ve been in his office so many times after that, you’ve lost count, letting him take you on every inch of that desk. Before, during, and after office hours, you both crave each other’s touch. You know to keep your time together to a minimum though. You can’t be coming into his office whenever you want, or else it would start to get suspicious. Sometimes you catch yourself stealing glances at his son in biology class, wondering if he has even the slightest idea of what’s going on between you and Mr. Suh.

One day, when he’s at the front of the class teaching, all you can think about is his lips on you as he takes you from behind, whispering in your ear how dirty you are for letting him fuck you before class started. By the end of class, he passes the homework back out. You see a note written in red at the bottom of your paper.

127 Paradise Lane tomorrow 7 pm

It doesn’t take a genius to know what that means or what it entails. You quickly put your homework in your backpack before any curious eyes can see what’s written on it. You look up to see him steal a glance at you, making sure you got his note. Neither of you say anything as you walk out of class.

***********************************************

When you get to his house the next night, he welcomes you in with a warm smile, which quickly turns devious as he shoves you against the door immediately after closing it, capturing your lips in a heated kiss. You grab hold of his shirt as his hands roam your body, pulling him as close as you can. His hard bulge presses against your stomach, thoughts already wandering to how mind blowing his impressive length will feel in you. You want him, but one questions prods at your mind, pulling away from his lips slightly.

“Sir, what about your son? Is he gonna be home tonight?” You feel weird in your classmate’s house, but the fact that you’re about to fuck his dad as you’ve done plenty of times before is more overwhelming than your qualms about being here.

“He’s out of town with his friends,” running his hand up your back before grabbing your hair, pulling your head back so fast it surprises you. His breath is warm against your lips, “And when you’re in my house, it’s daddy.” You’re so used to calling him sir, knowing it turns him on but the new name in this new setting makes your insides tingle. You can’t hold back your smile, giving him your best “yes, daddy” to appease him.

Mr. Suh leads you to his bedroom, the king sized bed hitting your back as he throws you down. He towers over you, unbuttoning his shirt slowly. You sit up on your elbows, rubbing your thighs together as you eat up the man before you with your eyes. With each button that comes undone, you get more and more excited. He’s watching you intently, thinking of all the ways he’s going to ruin you tonight. He looks delectable with his shirt off, licking your lips at the sight of his well built figure.

“You’re gonna start drooling soon,” he teases, walking to his closet and pulling out one of his many ties. Whatever he’s thinking of doing with that, you have absolutely no complaints. You bite your lip in anticipation as he kneels on the bed, securing the tie around your neck into a makeshift collar. “Is this okay with you?”

You nod your head, but he pulls on the tie quickly, taking your breath away. “Use your words.”

“Yes, it’s ok,” you choke out. He doesn’t let up, asking instead, “Yes what?”

You’re gushing already, the control he has over you making your head spin. “Yes daddy,” you can barely get the two words out. He lets the tie go slack, coughing a bit at the sudden attack. His hand cups your face, “Sorry was that too much?” You nuzzle your cheek into his hand, telling him you loved it.

And that’s what he loves about you, that you take anything he gives you and enjoy every bit of it. You’re too much for him. He sits with his back against the headboard, tugging your arm to straddle him. “Did you wear this little dress for me?” his hands are sliding up and down your thighs, bringing out the goosebumps on your skin. You brace your hands on his chest, moving your hips against his jeans. The friction against your clit is oh so good and feels even better when he flexes his thigh after seeing your movements.

“You should see what I’m wearing underneath,” tugging the hem of your dress over your body, revealing your choice in white lingerie underneath, the color making you look angelic but is a stark contrast to the sinful things that are about to happen.

“Miss Y/N, what am I gonna do with you?” he asks as you pick up the pace of your hips, leaning down to press your lips to his neck. He lets you do what you want to him, encouraging your hips to move faster. Your small whimpers in his ear tell him you’re enjoying yourself, using his thigh to get off. You know not to leave any visible marks, opting for further down his chest to leave hickeys. His jeans feel so good against your core, finding more pleasure in riding his thigh than you thought, but it’s still not enough. “Want you to fuck me,” you moan breathlessly, pushing your chest into his face as you find that perfect spot to keep grinding against.

He hungrily pulls your bra down, attaching his lips to your hard nipple as he rolls the other one between his fingers. Your skin is so soft, he could bury his face in your tits all night. He leaves his own hickeys on your chest, admiring his work as he puts your bra back in place.

“Keep the lingerie on.” He pulls you down by the tie again, kissing you fervently as you fumble with his jeans. You get down on your knees, taking his clothes off so that he’s naked before you. His rock-hard member slaps against his stomach when you pull his pants off. You flatten your tongue against his member, locking eyes with him as you lick him from the base to the tip. You take him in your mouth, using your hands to fondle his balls to add to his pleasure. Using your tongue as much as you can to get him wet, you take him as far as your throat allows.

“You look so good with my dick in your mouth,” grabbing your hair and bobbing your head up and down on him. You let him use your mouth, parting his lips at the feeling of your warm tongue. When he lets go of your hair, you release him with a pop, sliding your hand along his length. “I bet I look even better with it in m—” you can’t even finish your sentence as he grabs you by the chin, shutting you up.

“I knew you’d say some shit like that. Why don’t you be a good girl and come ride this dick then?” He shoves your face away, but the roughness only turns you on even more. You straddle his hips, his hand pulling your lace panties to the side as you position him at your entrance. Both of you gasp as you sink down on him, the stretch quickly filling you up, your tight walls clamping against him.

“Fuck daddy, feels so good,” you whine. When he’s all the way in, you lean back on your hands in the cowgirl position, giving him the best view of where your bodies are connected. You feel so exposed in this position, but he can’t keep his eyes off your core as you move your hips, which makes you feel powerful under his glare. You know he loves it just as much as you do, giving him a show as you ride him.

A thought comes into your head, pulling out but quickly turning around so that your backside is facing him. You slide down on him again, his hands gripping your waist. You can move your hips faster in this position, setting a quick pace and slamming your hips against his. He’s lost in the way your ass bounces on top him. You let out a loud whine when his hand lands a hard slap on your ass cheek.

“I can’t do that when we’re in my office,” he lands another one to the same cheek, “but now I can.” He wants to see you red with his handprints, enjoying your little yelps at the sting. You clench around him each time he spanks you, doing so particularly hard but you can’t deny that you like the pain. By the last spank, your ass is on fire, but his large hands smoothing over them soon makes you forget about the pain.

Suddenly, you’re being yanked back by your hair, thrown on your side as he spoons you. Lifting one of your legs up, he slides into you from behind. The new position introduces a new angle for him to fuck you. “Oh shit, fuck, oh my god,” you can only curse as he abuses your core deliciously. Instead of using the tie, he wraps his hand around your throat to choke you. You grip his forearm, letting him use your body to his content.

“Your pussy is so good baby,” he growls in your ear. “So tight, so wet, I could fuck you all night. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” You mumble incoherently as a response, too gone in the pleasure he’s sending throughout your body. You let out a choked scream as his hand that’s holding your leg up finds your sensitive nub, bringing you closer to the edge as he tells you how much he loves fucking you. Your legs shake as the pleasure overwhelms you, but he holds you close to keep you from going too far.

“Don’t run away, I know you can take it doll.”

“Daddy please,” you beg shamelessly but you don’t even know what you’re begging for. You want him to keep ravaging you, but you physically don’t know if you can keep up.

Mr. Suh makes the decision for you, pulling out of you to stand at the edge of the bed. He grabs your ankles, dragging your body towards him. He holds your legs together, pushing them towards your chest. He slides right back in, wasting no time in fucking you again. He loves watching his dick slide in and out of you, loves hearing you moan his name, loves how tight you get for him. You let your legs fall open, sitting up on your elbows to watch him fuck you. There’s something insanely hot about watching you take every inch of him, you can see why he enjoys it so much.

Your breasts bounce with each thrust, which makes him grab handfuls of your tits, pinching your nipples. “Baby, can I take a video of you? I won’t get your face in it, you just look so good in this lingerie right now.” You nod, feeling a surge of confidence at his words. He reaches for his phone on the nightstand, opening the camera and pressing record. He slows his thrusts, sliding into you slowly to show off how wet you are. The camera pans to your bra, giving them a squeeze for the video. He shoves your hand away, pulling your breasts out of your bra. He tugs on the tie, making sure not to get your face but still showing your makeshift collar off.

Without warning, he speeds his hips up again, earning a cry from you before ending the video and throwing his phone on the bed. He’s so riled up, he just wants to use you to finish. “You gonna cum for me daddy?” God, he loves hearing you beg for him. You sound so sweet saying the dirtiest things. “Cum for me please, I want it so bad, want you to cum in my mouth.”

“Oh shit baby,” he pulls out quickly, grabbing your hair and shoving himself in your mouth, his warm release all on your tongue. You swallow every last drop, sucking him off as he groans at the slight overstimulation.

He takes a second to catch his breath, noticing your not so innocent eyes looking up at him eagerly. A playful smile spreads across your face and he knows that look all too well.

You’re insatiable.

***********************************************

The next semester, you’re moving into a new dorm. Your parents are here to help you move everything in. You notice Mr. Suh’s son moving into the same dorm, looking around for a glimpse of him. He’s carrying a box of things from the car to the front entrance, stopping you for a quick “hello Miss Y/N, how was your break?”

He looks behind you, asking if those are your parents. “Maybe I should say something to them.”

“What are you gonna say?”

“Oh, I don't know, maybe something like: your girl calls me daddy too,” he jokes as you storm off, cheeks flushing red.